Ungodly Addiction
by Zanchev
Summary: When no one hates you more than you yourself, how can you possibly feel loved? A Dip fic centred on self-hatred and a rather horny Antichrist. Rated M.
1. Welcome to My World

**South Park**

**Damien x Pip**

**or**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction.**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

**Summary:** When no one hates you more than you yourself, how can you possibly feel loved? A Dip fic centred on self-hatred and a rather horny Antichrist. Rated M.

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

_Italics = thoughts_

I look at the figure in front of me, despising them more than anyone else possibly can. I remember when he was a happy, polite little religious kid, with a blonde bob-cut, bow tie and cap. That kid was a little ray of sunshine in the otherwise crappy hell-hole that is South Park. His British accent and overly chipper attitude was unchanging, even though every other kid in the town abused him; beat him up, put him down, and generally just didn't give a shit how he felt.

'_That little kid is long gone now_,' I think as I wistfully pull at the messy haircut. The blonde fringe falls into that person's eyes, covering the look of hatred in them. I glance at the black jeans, ripped shirt and black leather jacket that has replaced the little cardigan and bow tie the kid used to wear. I glare at the tattered converse sneakers that have taken the place of those cheesy socks and loafers. My eyes pan upwards, before staring dejectedly at the space where that cute little cap used to sit. I pull off the stupid beanie that smugly took its place, ripping it up in anger.

The figure in front of me doesn't comment, staring blankly at the shredded cloth in my hands. I look into that boy's eyes, and know that the same expressions are equally as apparent on my face as they are on his. I pull a packet of cigarettes from my pocket and we both take a fag. I light our smokes and sigh as I feel the nicotine race into my lungs, slowly killing me from the inside. I glare once again at the kid in front of me, knowing that no one will ever, **ever** hate him as much as I do.

I turn away from the mirror, marching out of my room and down the hallway of my crappy little apartment. I walk out of my home, not bothering to lock the doors.

'_I may as well leave the door fucking hanging off its hinges. Some little tosser always manages to break in anyway.'_

I walk towards South Park High, knowing that I'm about two hours late. I could very well not even bother attending, but it gives me something to do. I walk inside the gates, remembering when Craig Tucker and his cronies would hang that little kid on that barbed wire by his underwear. I turn and give the rickety old gate a swift kick before continuing onwards.

I walk through the school hallways; remembering when Wendy Testaburger and Bebe Stevens would laugh behind that poor little Brit's back, calling him insulting nicknames like Frenchie, just to watch him take it happily. I smile when I recall the day that the kid finally stood up for himself, retaliating to the insults with a brief "Shut up, you sluts, and get the fuck away from me". The expressions on those whores' faces were priceless.

I pause before entering the same classroom I'd been going to for most of my life. I remember the day that same kid caught Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski making bets on how long it would take for the class pervert, Kenny McCormick, to get into 'prude Frenchies pants'. The kid had ignored their hurried apologies, marching away down the hallway – followed by the other boys – towards McCormick. The kid had proceeded to plant a teeth-shattering kiss on the perv's lips, just to spite the world in general.

I sigh, pushing the door open and waltzing inside. I ignore all the stares and whispers, as always, and stroll casually to my place in the back of the room. I plop myself on the uncomfortable chair and rest my feet on my table. Mr/Mrs Garrison (he's changed his mind so many times I forget which he is at any given time) glares at me disapprovingly and I smirk at him, cigarette smoke curling in front of my face, daring him to tell me off.

After a long unspoken argument, the teacher sighs, gives me a detention for being late, and carries on with his lesson. I grin slightly, knowing that I've won this round. The smile fades far too quickly for anyone to register it, and I stare out of the window, watching the ever-present snow float down to the ground.

I sigh as the teacher once again begins his lesson. It's some compulsory health-education session on the importance of saying 'no' to alcohol and drugs until you are of age.

'_Pathetic, like anyone will listen.'_ I think to myself, still watching the snow outside. The cigarette continues to slowly burn itself out in my mouth as Garrison's voice slowly runs into unintelligible background noise in my mind. I feel my eyes lose focus, the snowflakes outside blurring into a white mess.

Slowly I become aware of the fact that the mindless babble that is the typical undercurrent of my schooling hours is absent. I blink once or twice, allowing my eyes to refocus, before tuning my ears back into the teacher's monotonous, droning voice.

"Well, well, well, look who we have here. Long time no see," Garrison seems to sneer. I hear no reply, so the newcomer has obviously shrugged or flipped the teacher off or something. The teacher makes a noise of disgust, before speaking once again.

"You can go sit in that spare seat at the back, next to Phillip."

At this, I turn to glare at the teacher for doing this to me. I prepare to give Garrison my expression of loathing – the one usually reserved only for the mirror – when blank confusion hits me like a brick.

The newcomer – a skinny, pale teenage boy with black clothes and shaggy black hair – stares at me in disbelief. I frown, unsure as to why he's so flabbergasted. The boy approaches me slowly, and I pull the burnt out fag-end from my mouth nonchalantly, tossing it over my shoulder and reaching into my pocket to grab a new cigarette.

"Pip, no smoking in – oh never mind." Garrison says wearily, before returning to his lesson. His annoying, nasal voice fades into the background once again as I lock eyes with the new kid, daring him to say anything as I flick open my lighter and allow the flames to lick at the tip of my nicotine fix.

I'm struck briefly by how familiar those eyes are. Of course, it's not likely you'd ever forget glowing, bright red orbs of fury, but these seem particularly nostalgic. I try half-heartedly to sort through my mixture of drunken stupors and repressed memories, curious as to why these eyes are so… moving…

The boy moves even closer, and I expect him to move to the side and sit at his seat. Instead, hands slam onto my desk, with their black-painted nails digging into the tabletop. Those red eyes move closer, burning a hole in my already mangled brain.

Cigarette smoke curls lightly between us, wafting into both of our noses as I arch an eyebrow, waiting for the strange new boy to speak. My mind scrambles, regurgitating painful memories in a bid to recall these piercing red eyes when suddenly the boy opens his mouth.

"Just what the hell have you done to yourself, Pip?"

That voice, although having dropped a few octaves since I first met the boy, is unmistakeable. I gape silently, for once forgetting my usual cold exterior. I forget the rest of the school, there is only me, and him.

Damien.

**DIP**

**AN. ~ I'm so so so sorry!**

**This was meant to be up _ages_ ago!**

**This is merely part one of this fic, which is dedicated to LoonieRiddleDragon, who requested a Dip fic in teen years filed with sex and angst and fluff and romance and Pip being a moody, self-hating tosser (not in thoseexac words, but close enough)**

**I hope this pleased you...?**

**If it ddn't, let me know, ok?**

**And I'll try again.**

**anyhoo,**

**see you later!**

**Zanchev**


	2. Nothing's wrong, Right?

**South Park**

**Damien x Pip**

**or**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction.**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

**Summary:** When no one hates you more than you yourself, how can you possibly feel loved? A Dip fic centred on self-hatred and a rather horny Antichrist. Rated M.

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

I sit on the large bed, palms spread flat over the black silk sheets, smoking a cigarette. I glance down at the black haired boy beside me, waiting for him to wake up. I groan as the sun slowly filters through the half-open blinds, bathing my bare, pale chest in a warm glow.

I sit up further, stretching my aching back before turning slightly and placing my bare feet on the soft, thick carpet. I stand, wincing slightly, before padding over the window and shutting the blinds, immersing myself in blissful darkness once more.

"Why'd you do that?" A calm, vaguely amused voice asks from the bed's direction. I turn and flip off Damien's general location, knowing he could see me with those garish red eyes of his.

"I hate the sun," I say, before pulling the fag from my mouth and offering it to the Antichrist, who takes it and inhales deeply. I hear a chuckle, followed by a creak, and suddenly I'm pulled back onto the bed and flipped so I'm underneath the black haired boy.

"I like it. At least, I do in the mornings," Damien says huskily, between kisses on my neck and bare chest. "It gives me a good view of your ass."

I let the red-eyed teen kiss my exposed skin, looking to the side in a way that I'm sure he thinks is giving him better reach. I hiss and moan when it is expected of me, and respond when he kisses my lips.

But, at least for me, there is no emotion behind it. I let Damien do this; kiss me, fondle me, fuck me, because it gives me yet another reason to loathe myself. It gives me an excuse to say that I'm disgusting, to say that I'm a dirty little whore who deserves nothing more than I've got.

Because I love to hate.

More specifically, I love to hate myself.

Damien's hand moves lower, gripping my hips, then my inner thigh, before finally resting on its target. I sigh in relief when I realise that my mouth is covered my Damien's so I don't have to pretend to moan.

Damien's hand grows more bold, wrapping loosely around me, slowly working up a rhythm. I close my eyes, waiting for the antichrist to get bored and move onto the next stage of our morning routine.

It comes slower today; either that or I've been waiting for it too anxiously. Even so, Damien eventually moves his hand from my groin to my mouth. I take his fingers into my mouth before he even has time to ask, sucking on them and coating each with my own saliva.

Then, I quickly shift slightly so that I'm prepared to take the first onslaught of Damien's groping, exploring fingers. He thrusts in roughly with two, scissoring me, stretching me almost immediately. I grimace in the pain that always accompanies this first bit, the pain before the pleasantness.

Those red eyes sparkle with enjoyment as they watch me squirm slightly beneath that pale body. Damien grins smugly when I bite my lip, piercing the skin. He leans forward, ghosting his lips across my jaw line as he harshly adds a third finger, his thrusting slowing again as I move, adjusting to the extra size.

His lips move again, brushing softly up the side of my face to press against my forehead as he slides in the fourth and final digit. He stops altogether now, waiting for me to wriggle into a comfortable position. He waits a few more moments, and when I say nothing, he starts thrusting with vigour. I grit my teeth as my back arches of its own volition and my ass clenches tightly around his intruding fingers. The antichrist laughs, kissing my lips as he continues his battery of my body. His other hand moves slowly to grip my hair, tugging on it roughly as he pulls my head down closer towards him.

His fingers pull out, leaving me feeling exposed and empty, when he pushed my head down further. I sigh quietly as I acquiesce to his silent demands, slowly moving my mouth to take the tip of his weeping erection between my lips.

Those red eyes slide shut and he hisses in pleasure as I slowly take more and more of him into my mouth, wetting it with my saliva and running my tongue over the slit, before running it down the sides until it was glistening. I deep throat him without warning, hollowing my cheeks and swallowing. My throat constricts around his shaft and Damien gasps audibly.

He tugs on my hair, and I let him pull my head upwards, gasping for breath quickly before his lips crash harshly on top of my own once again. Damien's eyes sparkle with anticipation, and I shift slightly underneath him, preparing for what's to come.

His left hand pins my wrists above my head, and his right grips my hip, directing me towards him. I shudder slightly at the penetration, and he lets me accustom myself to the intrusion before pulling out – all the way to the tip – only to thrust back in once again.

He soon develops a rhythm, his pounding starting slow, but speeding up as he grows more comfortable. I grit my teeth, the pain leaving my body eventually and being replaced with a feeling hat I'm familiar with, but can never label. I'd never felt it before this started, and I never feel it unless I'm doing this.

Damien cusses softly, and I feel myself being filled. The Antichrist pulls out and falls to the bed, sighing in what seems to me to be a mixture of satisfaction and exhaustion. He quickly falls asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around my waist and his head snuggling into my chest.

I glance at the clock on the bedside table and sigh when I make out the blinking red numbers. I lay back and try to get comfortable, preparing myself for a day in bed. It's too late to think about going to school, and I couldn't stand up even if I wanted to; Damien has a death grip, even when sleeping.

I sigh, staring at the ceiling, wondering when this happened. When did I start letting Damien do this to me?

I remember him returning to South Park, walking into that classroom and slamming his hands on my desk. I remember him dragging me out of the room, ignoring the whispers and teacher yelling at us. I remember him pulling me into a nearby bathroom and slamming me against a wall.

"Dammit, Pip, what the hell happened to you?" He had asked, brushing my fringe away from my face, his eyes expressing a mixture of confusion and hurt. I didn't reply, and then before I knew it his lips were pressed against mine, furiously trying to work an answer from my unresponsive body.

I sigh again, looking down at him. He had seemed so worried then, and I hadn't thought anything of the kiss. But after that, he began to hug and kiss me regularly, pull me out of class to touch me in an empty hallway, finally follow me home and tackle me to my bed, kissing and groping.

And things escalated from there. Now I miss days, if not weeks of school at a time. Whether it's because of his humongous libido, or because he's dragging me around somewhere for no reason whatsoever; he rarely leaves my side, and everyone in this crappy little town knows.

I smirk, knowing how little I care. Who gives a shit if people stare at me? They've been doing that all my life. Why should I feel self-conscious every time Damien touches me in public? It's not a crime, I'm not hurting anyone, and the expressions on peoples' are well worth it.

At least, that's what I tell myself, every time I find myself staring at the ceiling, filled with Damien's essence and trapped in his arms. It has to be worth it.

Right?

***DIP***

**AN.~**

**Sorry for all those who thought I was nice and published new stuff, I just separated the previous chapter into something a wee bit more manageable, is all.**

**BUT**

**The next chappy will be new stuff, I promise!**

**Till next time,**

**Zanchev**


	3. Ungodly Addiction

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction.**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

**Summary:** When no one hates you more than you yourself, how can you possibly feel loved? A Dip fic centred on self-hatred and a rather horny Antichrist. Rated M.

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

I push him into the wall, searching blindly until I feel my lips connect with his. The feeling of it pulses through me, calming me, easing my breathing, helping me focus. I hear him chuckle, before our position is switched.

I feel my back against that same wall; I feel his lips pressing roughly against my own, our breath mingling, and his leg between mine, causing delicious friction. I wrap my arms around his neck, twisting my fingers into his hair as he moves his lips from my own to smirk at my jaw line.

"Rather eager today, aren't we?" His molten voice asks, his lips brushing lightly against my neck, mere inches from the last mark he made, which is still healing. I shudder lightly and press closer to him, anxious to feel him touch me.

"Shut up," I growl, still pressing against him. He laughs again before pressing his sharp teeth against my neck and biting at my flesh. My legs feel like jelly as he grazes them across my neck, before licking and sucking at the wound, creating an angry mark.

I sigh happily, letting myself fall against Damien in a heap of quivering, pleasure-filled nerves. I feel his strong arms wrap themselves around my waist, pulling me closer towards that warm, comfortable chest.

"You know," Damien said contemplatively as my eyes drooped heavily. "I used to think that you were just letting me use you. I'd always have to instigate, you'd never seem as… into it, as I was… But now it's different, I'm glad you've gotten more comfortable with me. It's good to know that the feelings are mutual."

I bite my lip, my cheeks flushing red with embarrassment and guilt. I feel more than hear Damien sigh happily, and I close my eyes so he doesn't see the anguish in them.

How am I supposed to tell him? How do you explain to someone, someone who cares for you no less, that _you're_ the one using _them_? How do I explain to him that It DID start out with me letting him use me, just to fulfil my own self-loathing quota?

How can I possibly tell him that, although I don't let him use me anymore, the roles are reversed? I mean, Damien would never forgive me if I told him that I didn't feel anything for him, that I was simply addicted to his touch, that his kisses and touches calmed me down, distracted me from the horrible thoughts in my head.

And that's all it is. An Addiction. An ungodly addiction to this most unholy of men.

I tell myself that I don't care for him, that I'm using him for my own gain, that I'm still the hateful, loathing disgusting person in the mirror. I tell myself that I still deserve the glares and the poisoning cigarettes and everything else; that I'm deceiving this man and should be ashamed.

If I don't - if I start to think that I may love Damien - it'll only hurt him more. He doesn't deserve to have me - the British bastard with the bad attitude and the bad breath – clinging to him, hampering him. If I decided to open my cold unfeeling heart to the son of Satan, it'd only get burned.

So I use him, unabashedly and with only one goal in mind. I use him like I use the cigarettes, a stupid addiction that proves to myself that I'm worthless. A justification for all the self-loathing and anger I don't really have the right to possess, but use and abuse anyway. It's just an addiction.

Just an Ungodly Addiction.

**AN. ~**

**sorry sorry sorry!**

**My computer got a friggen virus, and It's only just started working again!**

**As soon as it was working again, I immediately started work on this, sorry its so short, but I figured you people needed something to prove I hadn't given up on this fic just yet!**

**... Ok, I apologise now for the horribly sappy stuff in there about love, but It kinda works, so I'm leaving it there.**

**Also, another apology (it seems to be all I'm good for at the moment):**

**I have exams at the moment, and so I may not have the opportunity to type up more, what with my alleged study (Like I ever actually do that...) So, just a heads up, don't be expecting a saga any time soon.**

**I could ramble on more, but I won't**

**see ya later!**

**Zanchev**


	4. Casual Pyromaniac

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction.**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

_Italics = thoughts_

I sigh, looking pointedly out of the window and steadfastly ignoring everyone else in the room. It's quite tedious having your classmates stare at you. Even more so when the only person you don't mind staring at you – or at least your arse - is visiting his father in Hades. Of course, no one realises that I know they're staring.

It's not like I don't notice what those idiots call 'surreptitious' and 'secret' glances, which are so blatantly obvious a blind and deaf walrus could pick it up. I just don't care enough to give them the satisfaction of knowing it bothers me. Instead, I continue my moody examination of the world outside the classroom, a.k.a. Life. The white snow is falling again, typical South Park.

"Damn it Phillip, I asked a question!"

I sigh, rolling my eyes before oh-so-slowly turning my head and glaring at Mr(s) Garrison. How dare (s)he interrupt my extraordinarily important brooding? I haven't been doing nearly enough lately what with Damien sticking his – uhm, I mean – What with Damien spending so much time at my house. Studying. Yeah, let's stick with that.

"I noticed," I tell the irate teacher, a little smugly. I've missed pissing people off. "However, I fail to see where it becomes my responsibility to answer it. There are plenty other people in here who are either know-it-all assholes, or actually need the marks. Since I am neither, I'd like it if you could – please – piss off and leave me the fuck alone, thankyouverymuch."

I smirk at the throbbing vein in Garrison's temple, before once again turning my head to look out the window at the falling snow.

_It's been getting colder recently,_ I ponder quietly. I'm honestly surprised I didn't notice sooner, but I guess that's what happens when you always have someone draping themselves over you. Of course, technically I asked for it.

I sigh once again, before pulling out my lighter and flicking it on and off absently. After a while I tear my eyes away from the whiteness outside and watch the flickering orange of the flame in my grip. It's breathtaking, how powerful you feel when you hold something so destructive in the palm of your hand. You feel in control, in charge, no one can tell you what to d-

"Pip Pirrup, if you don't dispose of that lighter right now I'm going to throw it in the staff room blender! Now, get rid of it for Christ's sake, before I give you detention for the rest of your life!"

The small flame flickers and dies, and I feel my faint smile fall flat, warping into a devilish smirk – one I learned from the resident devil, of course. I feel something snap in the back of my brain, and suddenly I'm filled with a strange sense of peace. I slowly stand up, pocketing my lighter, and look Garrison squarely in the eye. It's amusing to see him squirm under my suddenly calm gaze.

"Phillip, sit back down. Right now. So help me I WILL send you to Mr Mackey. God knows you need it." Garrison threatens. My soulless smile widens and I throw my head back and laugh humourlessly. I eye him again. He looks scared.

"Now, dear teacher, why would I care? You can't make me go to detention, or therapy. No one can. That's the beauty of America, freedom of speech and Liberty and all that crap." I take a few steps towards the front of the room, striding past the wide-eyed, fearful stares of my classmates.

My own gaze never leaves Mr(s) Garrison, who's sweating and looks about to faint. It's pathetic, really. My smirk pulls upwards into a sneer, and it feels good. I've never done this before, but the peacefulness is making me fearless.

"Phillip, don't you come any closer. Phillip you sit down right now or I'm calling the principal." (S)he hisses, moving behind his desk and chair to get some distance between us. I smirk once again.

"Ooh, for me? Really?" I clasp my hands together in sarcastic joy. "Now that makes me feel special."

"I will do it, don't tempt me."

"Go ahead; I don't give a flying rat's arse what you do. Call the principal, call Mackey, call the Mayor. Call the bloody effing CIA for all I care. You guys can't do jack-shit to me." I snarl, prowling forwards. The pathetic excuse for a man is now curled up behind his chair, whimpering like a five-year-old. I wrinkle my nose in disgust.

I turn and calmly scan across the room in front of me. Gawping, acne-ridden faces stare back at me in a mixture of fear and awe, and my upper lip curls into a vaguely nauseous grimace. These stupid people will never go anywhere, never do anything. The only remotely intelligent ones are Kyle – who got out years ago, he's now headed for Ivy League or something – and Kenny, who dies to get away from it all.

I'd do the same, but I can't come back. Actually, when you think about it, that makes it all the more tempting.

I look around the room and make a decision. One I should've made years ago. I pull out my lighter again and begin to flick it on and off, on and off… If I'm leaving, I'm going out with a bang. Or at least some fancy fireworks.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes and flick the lighter on one last time. I open my eyes and smile triumphantly at my terrified audience. I open my mouth and take a deliberate breath. Wait for it, wait for it…

"Screw you guys, I'm going home."

And with that, I give the room the one fingered salute before turning and striding to the door, taking extra care to slam it loudly behind me. As I swing my arms I realise that I left my bag behind. Ah well, _Say La Vee_, it only had my school books in it anyway. Don't need them anymore.

As I stroll casually out of the school towards the gates, I wonder how long it'll take for someone to notice that my little lighter – still ablaze – was casually dropped to the floor as I flipped off my classmates. My idle pondering is soon answered by an incredibly girly shriek – most likely from Mr(s) Garrison – rings through the school and out into the yard. I turn and smile smugly when I see smoke pouring from my old classroom window, followed by the flickering orange of familiar flames.

I laugh loudly and walk out of the school for the last time. I may not have gotten a bang, but the pyrotechnics are satisfying, to say the least.

As I wander purposefully down the road away from the burning building, I realise just why I feel so peaceful. Why it is that I had the courage to stand up to the whole room, and then burn it down on a whim.

I just don't care anymore.

When Garrison started yelling at me, I think I'd just had enough. No more pretending. No more lies. No more Phillip Pirrup. I'm my own bloody person and I'll do whatever the hell I please.

And I like it.

**DIP**

**AN ~**

**Hellow**

**Turns out my next exam isn't for a few days, so I gave up on study and wrote this instead!**

**I needed a pick-me-up, so this chapter is a little more sarcastic and a little less angsty.**

**I hope that's ok with y'all...**

**Anyway. **

**For the next chapter, I'm gonna need some help from you people. **

**It's a prerequisite of the fic that Pip and Damien fall in love, and one genius (who knows exactly who she is, thank you my friend!) has suggested that Damien save Pip from something, thus sparking the inevitable love spiral.**

**Now, what I need from you, my lucky victims - er, I mean, readers ^.^U - is I need some advice. If you could review with ideas on what Pip should be saved from - robbers, perverts, himself - or if you have any other ideas/ suggestions on how this fic should go, please don't hesitate to tell me.**

**Oh, and Scarlet Wolf?**

**I'm a Junior. In Senior school. :D (or Year Eleven if you're from another part of the world)**

**Anyway,**

**See y'all later!**

**Zanchev**


	5. Speak of the Devil

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

"What did you do?"

I look down from my absent-minded examination of the ceiling to find red eyes glowing with mirth in the doorway. I smirk back before returning my gaze to the patterns of cobwebs gracing the far corners of the room's roof. I stretch languidly on the silk sheets and link my finger behind my head, still smiling smugly.

"Whatever do you mean?" I ask; a tad too innocently. Red eyes gleam brighter than before and Damien's smirk widens to a full-blown grin.

"Well, I finished my business in the Underworld and thought it'd be nice to pick you up from school, so I come back via Stark's Pond and walk past the school… Only there isn't a school there anymore. And by Garrison's pathetic, whining rant about 'the bloody Brit', I'm assuming you have something to do with it." He says softly, arms crossed lightly across his chest.

I can't help it, a chuckle escapes my lips. Next thing I know, Damien has me pinned to the bed, arms held above my head by one hand as his free fingers tickle my abdomen underneath my shirt. Those smirking lips dance across my skin, placing distracting kisses everywhere but on my own yearning mouth. I gasp lowly, arching my back into his body, aching for more of his devilishly addictive touch.

"Nope," Damien grins, sitting back on my hips, his hand still pinning my wrists against the head board of his – our – bed. "No more until you tell me what happened, you 'bloody Brit'…" Damien grins at my pouting face, leaning down to lightly brush his lips against my forehead, causing me to shiver lightly. Damn him.

"Fine," I groan, pouting at him in the hopes that he'd feel bad and give me what I want. The glimmer of amusement in his red eyes tells me I'm not getting anywhere, so I give up and sigh.

"Fine," I repeat. "I was staring out of the window, as always, when Garrison chewed me out for not asking a question. I snapped back, he yelled at me some more. I walked out. That's it." I say in a rush, before shifting my hips, trying to touch Damien again. The bastard refuses to give in, and pulls back further.

"There's got to be more to it than that. Why is the school nothing more than smoking piles of rubble right now?" He asks; foiling my seduction plans again. I roll my eyes and mutter some obscenities under my breath – knowing that the man on top of me can very well hear what I'm saying about what he can shove where. I sigh again before acquiescing and spilling out the rest in a rush.

"After we argued about the question, I began to play with my lighter – you know, my favourite red one – and he told me he'd shove into a blender if I didn't stop. I got pissed off, walked to the front of the room, flipped off the world in general, dropped my lighter – which, incidentally, was alight – and walked out. By the time I got to the gate, my classroom was on fire and Garrison was screaming like a girl."

A pause for breath allows me to glance at Damien's face. His eyes are sparkling with amusement and his lips are wide in a grin that displays his glistening fangs. I cock my head, intrigued by this new – and surprisingly pleasant – expression. Hopefully I lift my hips again, and this time Damien moves down to place pressure on my body with his own. I sigh again, this time with contentment as I feel his lips brush my cheek and his teeth graze my earlobe.

A whine sounds in my throat and Damien chuckles before pressing his lips to my Adam's apple, slowly moving up and finally pressing his lips against my own. Relief floods my system and I moan happily, kissing back. His tongue flicks against my lower lip and I open my mouth quickly, eager to feel his silken tongue glide against my own. Instead, Damien sucks my bottom lips into his mouth and bites gently, his tongue caressing the wound he leaves behind. I hiss in surprise before melting into his chest at the feel of his tongue in my mouth.

Far too quickly, Damien pulls back and places an errant peck on my nose. His red, molten eyes are all I can see and I feel as if my mind is slowly but surely falling apart, being steadily sucked into the void of those swirling irises. He chuckles again and pulls back completely, laughing loudly at my most likely ruffled and flushed appearance.

He leans in again and brushed my cheek with his long fingers before gripping my chin and pulling my head up so he can bury his head into the crook of my neck, nibbling on the sensitive skin at my collar bone. I suck in a shocked breath before a strange mewling noise is thrown into the air. I flush with embarrassment when I realise it came from me. Damien laughs again and pulls away for good this time, sitting up once again.

"You know," he says slowly, as if pondering a difficult question. "You know, I think I'm beginning to rub off on you. You're becoming quite the devil."

He laughs again before releasing my wrists and using both hands to hoist me into his lap and another searing kiss. My hands unconsciously move to tangle in his hair and my eyes close to heighten the other senses. While we kiss, I can't help but consider his words.

Devil? Me? I think back to the feeling I experienced when I was in the classroom, the thrill I got upon seeing Garrison and the other quake in fear. I shudder at the memory of power and freedom I witnessed, if only for a brief moment.

As Damien's tongue slides effortlessly into my mouth and runs gently over my teeth and tongue, I can't help but agree with my red-eyed obsession. My pride and pleasure at other's fear and hatred scares me a little, and I'm not sure if this new side to my nature should be explored or buried.

Should I let these thoughts thrive, let my demonic nature flourish and grow? If I do that, surely I will lose control of myself, my actions. I won't be me anymore, just another bloodthirsty maniac running the streets. There're enough of those as it is.

On the other hand, do I really want to be a quiet little nobody for the rest of my life? Is obscurity and lack of control something I can live with, now that I've tasted the power and infamy? I'm not sure I could stand being taken control of again, I like the freedom far too much.

Torn and confused and under utter sensory overload, I tell my brain to shut up and focus solely on the feel of Damien's lips against mine, the scent of his cologne, the texture of his soft hair, the taste of his tongue and the sound of our heavy breathing. I give up on thought and give in to desire, thrusting my tongue into his mouth with renewed energy and forgetting about my worries.

**DIP**

**AN ~**

**Sorry this took so long, I'm in exams at the moment and haven't had a spare hour or so to type and publish… D:**

**Anyway, here is the next chapter, almost pure filler and dedicated in part to Scarlet Wolf, whose mother is in hospital after an accident at work. All of my thoughts and prayers are with you and you mother, Scarlet. When I first read your review, I must admit I was shocked to silence for a few hours. I hope she regains her strength and that you both are alright.**

**The next chapter shall be another mostly filler chapter, but then the plot shall thicken, so keep an eye out!**

**See you all later,**

**Zanchev**

**Oh, and by the by, I shall be putting a poll on my profile really soon regarding the ending of this fic, so please keep an eye out and vote for your favourite ending!**


	6. And the Devil shall cum

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

**_**Warning:**__ This is looking like it's going to turn into a sex scene – A VERY __**'R'**__**RATED**__ SEX SCENE - that has no relevance to the plot, bar making Pip's ass sore, which is important in the next chapter. :D As such, all those who don't want to know how sore Pip will be in the morning had better stop reading about now, lest they lose what's left of their innocence. I'm not kidding, this is heavy stuff_**

I moan loudly when one of Damien's hands slides down to firmly grasp my ass. Panting; I pull away from his lips in favour of kissing very part of him I can find. I kiss down his neck and torso, unbuttoning his shirt as I go. Damien hums appreciatively and a hand weaves into my hair whilst the other tightens on my tailbone. I groan again and allow Damien to push me back to the pillows, my breath quickening involuntarily when Damien takes my belt from my waist and uses it the tie my wrists to the bed.

I arch my back, moaning again when my clothed chest bumps into Damien's bare one. Damien chuckled and rips the cloth away, tossing the tattered shirt into a far corner of the room before lazily flicking his wicked tongue over my left nipple. An electric tingle wriggles its way from the glistening nub through to my brain like a hit of nicotine and I sigh, falling limp against the silken sheets once more.

All I can do is moan and gasp for breath as Damien's devilish tongue slides tantalisingly over one nipple, across my heaving chest only to pull the other nub into his warm mouth. Skilful hands brush up and down my bare sides before slowly undoing the button on my jeans.

Licking a trail down my chest and stomach, Damien grins at me slyly before taking my zipper between his teeth and slowly dragging it downwards, opening my constricting pants. The friction of the metal against my still covered erection is blissful and I moan loudly.

"D-Damieeeeeenn…" I sigh, head pressing into the pillows as he slowly peels the denim from my hips and dragging it slowly down my thighs. My pants soon join the tattered shirt on the floor and Damien slithers down to places feathery kisses on the insides of my thighs. I shudder violently at the touch, every kiss and touch satisfying my addiction and fuelling my need for more.

One hand slides up the inside of my boxers and I feel coarse, callused fingers brushing against my hip and around to my rear and Damien's other hand slides up my front to tweak at my already hardened nipples. I gasp lowly, before throwing my head back and moaning loudly when Damien's tongue – God bless that tongue – flicks between his kiss-swollen lips to teasingly taste the skin between my legs.

"Get on with it," I manage to snarl, before incoherency once again takes hold as Damien's hand slides from my ass to my entrance.

"As you wish," Damien says teasingly before retracting both his hands and sitting up entirely; removing every sliver of contact between us. I can hear the smirk on his face as he chuckles lowly at my wordless whine when his weight is gone. I am about to yell as him when suddenly I am naked, my boxers stripped from my body faster than my desire-addled brain can comprehend.

Once the offending clothing is gone – I'm assuming I'll find them later on the table or something – Damien lies on top of me again, calming my jangled nerves. I truly am an addict to his touch, at least if my sighing and moaning is proof of anything.

Damien's lips are at my throat, biting and licking. His hands are moving rapidly, tweaking my nipples, rubbing my ass, massaging my inner thigh, running up and down my chest and sides… The constant movement and ever-present stimulation is quickly going to my head – and my crotch.

Struck by a sudden thought, I huff loudly and start pulling at my belt, trying to free my trapped arms. Damien notices this and pauses, all action ceasing. I frown at him, silently telling him to continue.

"What do you think you're doing?" He asks quietly, smiling slightly as his eyes are fixed on my jerking wrists. I growl and tug on them again, before giving up and falling back against the bed.

"It's not fair. You should be naked too," I say, trying to keep my train of though on track as Damien's eyes move away from my wrists, down my arms and body before grinding to a halt at my painfully erect member. His eyes flick up to mine, before returning to their prize and that heaven-sent tongue flick out to lick his lips predatorily. I gulp.

"You're right," He says suddenly, sitting upright and pulling his already open shirt off his arms. He then moves to the edge of the bed and kicks off his shoes and pants, returning to hover over me in nothing but underwear.

"Better?" He leers, grinning when I nod mutely. His eyes wander back to their previous interest and I squirm uncomfortably under his gaze. A pale hand cups my cheek comfortingly and his lips brush against my forehead before running down my face and body, coming to rest at my inner thigh. I sigh once more, the addicting feelings of pleasure rushing back to fog my mind yet again as the hand not resting on my face slides around to once again squeeze my ass, causing me to arch my back. Damien's other hand slides down my body to press against my hips before his tongue pokes out from between those pale lips and traces a line up my thigh and down the top of my shaft to rest at the tip. I moan louder than before.

Damien glances up at my compromising position before his red eyes glide down my bare body to focus on his new task. He licks at the slit, gathering the pre-cum before sliding lithely down to the base and back up. His tongue slows to rest just beneath the tip, putting light pressure in a place that just makes me go crazy.

My moaning raises in volume and I nearly scream when Damien deep throats me suddenly, hollowing his cheeks and sucking harshly. My eyelids flicker spastically and my breathing comes harsh and shallow as Damien begins to bob back and forth, that bloody tongue sending shiver after shiver of addictive pleasure through my body until I swear I can't hold it any longer.

"Dam- Damiieeen… hah… I-I can't… I'm gonna…" I try to tell him, but the words are just not coming out between the moans and the panting. Somehow he gets the picture and deep throats me again, swallowing once before gripping the base tightly with the hand at my hip – preventing my release - and removing his lips altogether.

I sigh again as Damien licks his lips and smirks at me. I moan softly at the loss of heat, but Damien more than makes up for it when he removes his hand from my ass and gropes around on the bedside table, producing lube from nowhere.

He reaches up and undoes the belt, freeing my hands. I rub my wrists absently before Damien hands me the lubricant. I obediently open the lid and take some onto my palm. I spread it on Damien's free hand, before He says something unexpected.

"Put some in your mouth, Pip." He grunts, slowly letting go of my throbbing erection to grasp my hips once again. I oblige, wrinkling my nose and the unfamiliar taste. He gives me a look, and I finally understand.

Wasting no time, I immediately dive, taking him into my mouth and using my tongue to slather his shaft in the funny-smelling lube. He lets out a guttural groan as I hollow my own cheeks, imitating his earlier actions. I pull back to examine my work, before bobbing back, taking in as much as I can and swallowing. I gag slightly at the taste, but do not pull away again until Damien's non-slick hand pulls me up by the hair.

I feel left over lube and spit dribble from my mouth as I'm yanked roughly backwards and pushed into the mattress. I lift up my legs and hook them over Damien's shoulders, ready and willing for the coming attraction. Damien smiles again, tenderly this time, and gently presses a slick knuckle against my entrance.

I hear a sharp intake of breath, and realise it came from me. Damien chuckles and slides in, up until the first knuckle. I squirm, a little uncomfortable, until his other hand grabs me, stopping me from moving.

The finger slides in, all the way, and is soon joined by two more. The pain recedes slowly, and I wince every few thrusts. Damien kisses me harshly, distracting me effectively enough that I don't notice his hands until they aren't touching me anymore.

I pull back from the kiss, curious. Damien gives me a quick, almost apologetic look, before thrusting his hips. I scream, pain tearing through me like a knife. My head falls back, my body limp. I can't focus, the pain consuming all thought. I hear Damien swear, and suddenly his lips are kissing away the tears in my eyes, moving to my forehead and cheeks and lips. Tenderly wrapping his tongue around mine, Damien pulls out, thrusting back in again, gently this time.

The pain recedes, but only a little. I let out a pitiful whimper, which is soon muffled by Damien's lips. He pauses this time, letting me grow accustomed to the intrusion. I squirm a little more, before mumbling into Damien's mouth.

"Move, damn it."

I feel Damien grin, before he's thrusting madly. I yelp at the rapid pace, shouting out in pain at times, in pleasure at others. I'm slowly growing used to it, the pain slowly leaving me, when the pace quickens even more. I moan in surprise.

Without warning, everything goes white. I'm seeing stars. My legs are jelly, my arms splayed and my head thrown back into the pillows, neck extended as I scream in undiluted ecstasy. Pleasure ripples through my body in waves, consuming every nerve, every feeling, every thought, everything.

"Holy FUCK do that again!" I holler at the top of my lungs, head writhing and body twitching as that feeling of bliss returns each time Damien hits my prostate – which he's doing more often with deadly accuracy. I'm quickly reduced to a quivering, moaning wreck, able to do naught but moan my encouragement.

"Shit… Jesus Christ… Ooh, that's good… yes, yes; YES… hhhnnnnnngggnah... hah… FUCK… Shi-fu-gguhh… DAMIEN!"

I scream loudly once more, back arching and mouth agape as I climax, my body thrown into the grasp of a violent orgasm, my seed splattering the sheets and Damien's chest. I can feel myself clenching around him, and he lets out another moan, before shuddering.

"Pip," He hisses hoarsely – he must've been moaning and shouting like me, but I honestly can't recall hearing him - and I feel myself being filled. He falls to my side, pulling out and kissing me harshly. I moan happily into the kiss, spent and aching, but immensely happy.

Damien falls asleep quickly, and I settle down next to him, waiting for slumber to pull me into its warm embrace.

**DIP**

**AN ~**

**OH SON OF A - Took me fifty tries and two format alterations to get this up**…

**So, yeah, for all who stuck through that, I congratulate you. I don't even have the guts to reread it, so I've been as fastidious as possible with spelling and such along the way.**

**For all those who've read that and would still believe me if I told you I'm a virgin, I love you and you can have internet cookies and a story of your own (I rock at this bribery thing) :D**

**Anyway, that had little to nothing to do with the plot, but it was the ending of the last chapter, but it got too long so I made it separate, so that the innocent (or intelligent) among us were warned and could stay away.**

**Oh, and Scarlet Wolf? I'm so glad your mom's ok :D**

**Anyway, ONWARD to the next chapter!**

**See y'all later!**

**Zanchev**

**Don't forget that I still have that poll going. I'm going to keep it running until exams are over, so It shall end on Monday the 6****th**** of June :D Please vote for your fave ending!**

**Ja matta ne!**


	7. Chloroformic contemplation

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

** _No more sex, I promise... For now..._**

****DIP****

I shift slightly, uncomfortable, aching pain dully throbbing through my lower back and abdomen, keeping me awake. I try to roll over, but Damien's arm is resting on my chest, blocking my movement. I feel sticky and dirty and I have a bleeding headache coming on.

Perfect.

I crinkle my nose in distaste when another shift under the covers lands me in an undeniably wet spot on the mattress. Groaning lightly I try once again to shuffle my way out of Damien's unconscious embrace. This time the man mumbles in his sleep and rolls over.

Don't get your hopes up; he rolled the wrong way.

I gasp, my breath leaving my body in a huff as Damien's heavy torso squashes my innards. My hands claw uselessly at the pillows and sheets as my lungs heave, trying in vain to regain some form of regular oxygen intake. I eventually grab at his arms, trying in vain to push him away.

"D-Dami-en… Can't… Breathe…" I hiss, giving up on movement and settling for shaking him awake. He lets out a yawn and stretches his arms, almost hitting my nose. His eyes slowly slide open, before looking at me sheepishly.

"Oops, I'm sorry," is all he says, and I treat him to one of my glares. He looks away, sitting up and letting me breathe. I gasp in the air, chest rising and falling rapidly. I slowly sit up beside him. He pulls me into a bear hug that threatens to suffocate me once again. He murmurs something along the lines of 'sorry 'about that', before flopping backwards and starting to snore.

I look down at his resting figure and smile faintly at his crinkled nose and mouth agape. My smile quickly turns into a grimace when I feel another stab of pain. Knowing I'll never be able to sleep at this rate, I groan and drag myself out of bed,

I mutter and moan as much as I feel like as I crawl into the shower and wash off the debris from a few hours ago. I grumble and gripe softly to myself as I towel my hair until it's dry and standing at odd ends. I pull on my warmest jeans and my thickest coat before leaving a note on the bedstead and slipping out of the front door.

Considering I can't sleep, I figure I may as well do something, and walking around has always calmed me down. I stroll aimlessly down the familiar street, my breath curling visibly in front of me. I wrap my arms around my thin frame, rubbing my arms to keep warm in the chilly midnight air.

"I should've brought my scarf and gloves." I sigh, my eyes falling to gaze studiously at the snow beneath my feet. I walk on and on, enjoying the sounds of my boots breaking the crisp, newly fallen snow. It's nice to know that you're the first to walk here; you alone have the delight of seeing that whiteness in its purest form.

I wander mindlessly, not really sure where I'm headed. I look up, watching dark grey clouds trail lazily across the inky black sky. The moon is waning, hidden behind a nearby building, and I use its pale glow to find my way though blackened streets.

I walk past the old school site, my hand dragging across charred wire fencing. I quell the urge to laugh at the view I'm presented with; Damien wasn't kidding when he said piles of rubble. My fingers dance across broken locks and blackened gates, my hand black when I pull away from my work.

I shove my soot coated hands into my pockets and wander further away from my home, the school, and civilisation in general. I walk around aimlessly, eventually finding myself on the edge of Stark's Pond.

I sit down on the edge of the icy water, staring at the reflection of the moon on the pond's surface. The pool is still, not a single ripple disturbing the image of the sky above.

I curl up, wrapping my arms around my bent legs and resting my chin on the top of my knees. I look at my own reflection in the pond, stretching out one blackened hand to trail in the freezing water. I lower the hand until its totally submerged, washing away the soot and ash, watching it taint the brightness of the moon's reflection.

I blink, spotting something else in the reflection. It's a dark figure just behind my own mirror image, coming closer and closer. I assume its Damien and say nothing, letting him come up behind me.

"How'd you find me?" I ask casually, waiting for those red eyes to flash in the water.

"It wasn't so difficult," a voice says, cold and unfamiliar. My eyes open wide, alert and panicked. The figure comes into focus behind me in the water, and my jaw drops.

"Say goodnight," The figure sneers, before a clothed hand clamps over my mouth and nose, preventing me from screaming or breathing. I struggle to throw the larger person off, but my flailing limbs grow weaker as my lungs fight for oxygen. I feel the grasp loosen and I take a staggering breath. I feel my eyelids droop and curse when I realise the cloth over my face is damp.

As I succumb to unconsciousness, my last thoughts wander towards a pair of red eyes, and I find myself wishing to see them again. Instead, as my eyes slide shut, all I see is the cold hard sneer of my captor as he leans down to hoist me over his shoulder and away into the night.

***DIP***

**AN.-**

**THE PLOT THICKENS!**

**I apologise for the absolutely unredeemable gap between chapters, but I was trapped in a cold dark place with no computers, and then my internet failed... I know there is no excuse, but it is the truth, and I'm sorry.**

**But, I'm baaaaack!**

**run for the hills! XD**

**I did say there would be no more filler, and that is mostly true, although the beginniing of this chappy was a liitle filler-esque. I hope the cliff-hanger made it worth-while though :)**

**I promise that this is on the top of my priorities at the moment, and i'm determined to get a new chapter up very soon, to repay you all for your endless patience and to thankyou for sticking with me!**

**hugs and internet cookies for you all!**

**Also, I am feeling ill at the moment and have spent the past week suffering from a bad cough and no voice, and I've been to the doctor and have to take pills and its all quite pitiful...**

**so, could I please have some pity-reviews? i need a pick-me-up, especially seeing as I'm being kept away from society for the next few days, and I need the love. or the flames, any human contact is good :D**

**until next time, my friends!**

**Zanchev.**


	8. Damned soul in Distress

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

Darkness becomes blurred light. I blink my eyes rapidly, trying to focus the foggy colours into shapes, people, objects, anything. Slowly – oh so slowly – the dull splashes of grey, white, green and brown sharpen and become recognisable.

I'm in a room. A near empty, cold room filled with nothing but brown, wooden pillars, white laundry machines and some green sheets. Obviously it's a basement of some kind. The grey walls seem to drip with moisture – unidentifiable liquids that I'd rather not know up-close. I realise the I'm sitting propped up against the far wall, next to a set of cold, ugly stairs.

Oh, isn't this fantastic.

I frown slightly, trying to remember just who landed me in this ugly little basement. All I can seem to remember is an ugly, leering smile and a cold, hateful voice that I can't quite place. All other distinguishable features have somehow escaped my still slightly dazed mind.

Before I can beat myself up too much about somehow falling into the role of damsel-in-distress, there is a loud, ominous creaking sound. I snap my head up to see a door at the top of the stairs. It's opening slowly.

I quickly let my head drop, appearing unconscious until I know just who it is. An advantage to living in South Park – you kinda know everyone. I hear heavy footfalls approaching; becoming louder the closer the stranger comes.

"Oh my…" I hear a strangely feminine voice utter softly. I frown; this voice is not the one I remember from the horrible attack near Stark's Pond. This voice sounds… well, much older.

And female.

"Young man, are you ok?"

Confused, I open my eyes and look up. Right into the concerned eyes of one person I never in a million years expected to find me trapped in a basement. Stunned into silence, I merely eye the well-known mother with frightened confusion.

The woman merely looks at me, appearing rather concerned, before shrugging and smiling in what can only be outright denial.

"You must be playing a game with Eric. Don't worry, I won't tell him you're hiding here!" She smiles and gives a wink in a way that she must think is conspirational, before standing and collecting the laundry. As Eric Cartman's mom walks up the stairs and out of the room again, I assume the worst.

Oh shit.

**AN ~**

**Sorry guys, but I just had to.**

**Someone earlier – like, months ago – suggested Cartman kidnap him, and… yeah…**

**I know it's completely cliché and happens all the time, but I honestly can't think of anyone else who'd be weird enough to stalk and kidnap Pip without a good reason.**

**And I can't be bothered thinking up a reason…**

**At least, not one that isn't stupid and annoying and completely Cartman-esque.**

**So yeah, hooray for stereotypical plotlines!**

**Until next time**

**Zanchev :D**


	9. I think I broke it

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

Silence. Again.

Darkness. Again.

Two things I seem to be getting a hell of a lot of in this dirty underground prison.

Since my capture, I've not seen outside of this disgusting basement. I don't know how long I've been here, whether it's been hours, days or weeks. I don't know if its day or night, or even if I'll see the sky again. All I know is that I'm here, huddled in the corner of Eric Cartman's disgusting basement, and I'm alone.

Well, most of the time, anyway.

Once in a while my solitude is interrupted, either by Eric to verbally abuse me or his mother to unwittingly add insult to injury.

At least she feeds me. I'm not entirely sure her son has realised that she's been helping me, but I'm still grateful, despite her extraordinary ability to overlook the obvious.

'Well done, dear," She'd whisper conspirationally, pushing forward a tray of soup and bread towards me. She'd giggle, seemingly happy that I was still there, in the bloody corner. I wondered if she could see the chain wrapped around my ankle.

"You're a master at this hide-and-seek thing, Eric is completely clueless!"

He's not the only one, it seems.

However, I cannot bring myself to loathe, feel angry at, or really be bothered to feel much more than bland pity for Mrs Cartman. She really does try her best.

This, of course, leaves me plenty of emotional capacity to damn her son to GYM (1) and back. Twice. Any and all hatred I don't force upon the kind hearted – if simple – mother can be turned hundred-fold upon the bastard son.

He thinks himself invincible, strutting – well, wobbling – smugly in front of me like a morbidly obese and pitifully ugly peacock, loudmouthing about his self-acclaimed brilliance and stealth, full of ego-boosting self-congratulation and Brit-bashing.

Speak of the Devil, and the Devil shall appear. Who should decide to come oozing through the door at this very moment, but the Fatass himself. I sigh wearily when I hear his jaw – the only well-exercised body part that boy has – is already gaping wide, spurting random crap about intelligence and my apparent lack of it.

"I can't believe you were so stupid, so trusting, to get yourself caught so easily. I could've done it anyway, of course, but seriously, what kind of retard goes walking down the street in the middle of the night? You were practically begging to get hit over the head and dragged to some dingy hole. You should be thanking me for giving you an entire room…"

I tune out the annoyingly nasal tones of my captor, having already heard this particular spiel before. The man's script-writer must be on strike or something; he's been saying the same thing since I got here.

"Why?" I ask suddenly, scathingly, rudely interrupting him mid-rant, much to my own amusement and pleasure. He paused, glaring at me in confusion.

"Why did you kidnap me? All you've done to me so far is give me a headache. What are your motives, if you do not want my money or my brain for some twisted experiment, then what? I'm just the bastard British kid with an attitude problem. What could you possibly have to gain? No one cares about me." I expand bitterly, smiling grimly at the boy's momentarily crestfallen expression.

Pip: One  
>Fatass: Zero.<p>

Of course, he quickly pulls himself together (as much as one can when missing vital body parts. Like guts, muscle, brains and dick) and attempts to retain his falling control.

"Why? That's easy, Frenchie. It's to piss off your boyfriend." He sneers in what I'm sure he thinks is a threatening manner. Naturally, I burst into a fit of open, loud laughter.

"Oh, so that's how it is! Well, if you have a death-wish, I guess that's alright by me. Of course, most suicidal pansies slit their wrists, so points go to you for originality."

Eric splutters at my lack of denial, or caring, as well as the added insult.

Pip: Two  
>Fatass: Zero.<p>

"You fucktard, this is all part of my plan!" Cartman insists, struggling to keep a hold of the situation. "Now that freaky-eyed son of a bitch will be wrapped around my little finger."

I raise one eyebrow, feeling no need to respond to such a ridiculous notion. Eric – in a brief spell of wit – sees my silence as the insult it is, and growls.

"If he wants you back – which isn't likely you scrawny French fuck – your precious Damien will have to do everything I say, and give me whatever I want."

Eric tries to regain his composure, and fails miserably when I laugh again.

"And how, pray tell, will he know your demands? I assume you've left a nice little note in the mail box. _'Hi Damien, How are you? By the by, I have your boyfriend locked in my basement. Send one million dollars cash to Eric Cartman's house by Friday if you ever want to see him again. Love Eric'_ Made sure to add all the hugs and kisses, I hope!"

I laugh again, my cracked voice echoing through the suddenly silent room.

Pip: Three  
>Fatass: negative several million.<p>

The silence reigns longer than I thought is possible. I glance towards the frozen form of Eric Cartman. He's not moving, not speaking…

…

I think I broke him…

…

"Aye! You stupid French fuck!"

No, wait. It lives…

**AN ~**

**Oh wow, the cynicism is freaking tangible…**

**Poor Fatass just can't get it right, can he?**

**I was asked if having Cartman kidnap Pip would mean he was going to get sexually harassed. In answer; I'm honestly not sure. I'm leaning towards not, purely because that's just so clichéd and overdone. However, that doesn't mean I'm completely against it.**

**We shall see.**

**(1): GYM. This is a reference to my theories on the afterlife, which are explained in my other South Park story, 'Dead'. If you don't understand, or can't be bothered reading it, review and I'll explain next chapter, ok?**

**Until next time!**

**Zanchev.**


	10. Raving for Revenge

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

Bloody hell; not a_gain_…

I quickly reshuffle my body, tucking the tray of food I've only half-eaten behind my back as I hear the Fatass slowly wallowing his way towards his-basement-turned-my-prison. I'm at a loss as to why he's returning so soon; he usually only comes down here every day or two, but this is the third time today he's been to visit.

I let my head fall backwards, hitting the wall with a clunking noise as he rolls through the door and bounces down the steps in intense agitation. I look at him boredly as he paces in front of me, obviously too angry to be able to string together a sentence – not that he could achieve that beforehand.

"Any reason I've been blessed with yet another pouting session?" I ask mildly, smirking inwardly at the rage-filled glare that comment earns me. Cartman paces again, back and forth… back and forth… back and forth… until finally he appears to get dizzy and falls into a puddle of fat on a nearby chair – one he brought down a long time ago, because apparently standing upright is far too physically draining for him.

I sit and I watch him with what I'd call a look of unadulterated disgust as his ridiculously heavy breathing slowly returns to a healthier speed and density. My foot begins to tap impatiently at the slightly damp floor, waiting for the imminent belly-aching and whining that is sure to come my way.

You can understand then why I'm surprised when, instead of opening his mouth to complain, the Fatass slowly heaves his large posterior out of the tiny, broken-looking chair and approaches me slowly. Those tiny, piggy eyes squint at me from the layers of fat in an expression that can only be described as loathing as he leans right up to me, his nose inches from my own.

"You know, I really, _really, __really_ hate faggots."

I resist the urge to snort.

"I did, in fact, realise this, Eric. The fact that I; (a) am presently in a relationship with a boy, and (b) am also presently chained to your basement's water system was an excellent hint. Any other obvious statements you'd like to make, or are you going to leave me be once again?" I sneer; quietly deciding that the particular shade or purple Eric is turning now is my new favourite colour.

Cartman again surprises me by not taking the bait and replying snappily, but instead he just backs up and starts pacing again. Something – or some_one_ – is obviously getting on his nerves. I want to send them flowers.

"Come now, Eric. This prolonged thinking is putting too much strain on your poor brain. Tell me, who's got you so worked up? They're my new best friend." I goad, wondering if his stubborn pride will rise to the occasion once again.

I'm satisfied to say that yes, his pride does take a hit and the walking whale cannot resist lashing out with his own wagging tongue.

"Oh, I'm sure you've gone well past the 'friend' stage with him, you fucking fag," He growls, and I blink in confusion. Fatass sees my indecision and pounces.

"That's right. Unless you're not only a gay pussy, but also a cock-slut, the person who's got me so pissed off is your one and only Damien."

I'm not sure whether to take the way Cartman spat out my boyfriend's name like it's a disease as an insult, or a compliment. So, like any intelligent creature, I choose to remain silent as Eric Cartman slowly sinks into one of his hissy-fits.

"That bastard is sooooo smug, waltzing around out there like he hasn't a care in the world. Asking everyone whether they've seen you and claiming to be worried sick, when obviously he knows exactly where you are, and is just trying to mess with my head. Well, it's not going to work!"

I decide not to point out that, technically, any mind-games Damien may or may not have been playing with the Fatass have already worked, and worked well.

"That's right. If he doesn't give in to my demands - which really aren't that impossible, anyway – then I'll just have to make a point." Cartman finishes his muttering and turns to me, eyes gleaming in perverse, angry insanity.

"Oh, fantastic, you've finally lost all sense, have you? Just how do you expect to make a point to the Son of Satan?" I can't help the scorn in my voice, and honestly I don't care.

Cartman pauses in his stomping about in a huff and turns to me again. He prowls forward, stopping inches from my face. All I can see is his ugly features – his beady black eyes; his ballooning, ruddy cheeks; his crooked teeth set in his wide, craggy leer… disgusting.

"I'm gonna get back at that son of a bitch by taking away the only thing he seems to care about," the Fatass grins. I hold my breath unconsciously, feeling his putrid halitosis wash over my face. His words confuse me somewhat; what could he possibly care about…?

Oh, right. That's why he's grinning.

He's talking about me.

Sigh.

"How the hell do you plan to take away from him, what you already have?"

Cartman leans back – thankfully – and smiles in misguided superiority. His hand delves into his pocket and – after much struggling and cursing – retrieves a small key. The chuckling teenager moves around and detaches me from the wall, allowing me to stand and stretch.

"I'm going to taint you. Make him never want you ever again. He won't be able to look at you, without seeing me."

My jaw drops in horror. Surely not! He himself is a confessed homosexual hater; surely he wouldn't sink so low, just for revenge –

Wait.

This is Eric Cartman we're talking about…

Bugger,

I am so screwed.

**AN ~**

**Hello, faithful readers!**

**Thank you all for reading this, and for leaving such motivating and happy reviews!**

**I love you all.**

**Oh, shut up, it's the tenth chapter, I'm feeling sentimental.**

**Emphasis being on Mental.**

**Now, I just wanna give a huge shout out and thank you to HappyNoddleGirl666, whose advice and happy thoughts have been invaluable. She gave me some brilliant ideas for this chapter and next. I did try your latest idea, but it got too long, sorry!**

**In the next chapter this story will almost definitely live up to it's M rating, just a forewarning…**

**Be prepared for angst laden, drama-filled sexual tension goodness in the future!**

**Oh and maybe an epiphany or two…**

**Until next time!**

**Zanchev.**


	11. God, why do you hate me? oh, right

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction**

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**Warning: This chapter is rated M. The squeamish are advised to skip to the AN at the end, k?**

**DIP**

The Fatass lunges forward, flabby arms wide and hands curling inwards as if to make a grab at me. I drop to the floor and roll aside before he has the chance to move. I hear a loud crash and an even louder curse, and I spin around to see Cartman rubbing his now red nose and muttering filthy words under his breath.

I can't help it, I start laughing. Honestly, who else would go to molest someone and end up walking into a metal pipe? It's priceless.

I hear a strangled roar and quickly wipe the tears of mirth from my eyes, only to see a fat fist head straight for my face.

Oh shit.

The force of the punch sends me staggering backwards a few steps, and fresh tears spring into my eyes – ones of pain. I shake my head and face the Fatass once more. He's snarling like an animal and trying to approach me in what he obviously deems an intimidating stance. It looks like a drunken sumo trying to stand on one leg and touch his nose. I struggle to quell the urge to laugh again, but a snicker still manages to pass my lips.

That beautiful shade of purple is there again, and I dance out of the way of Eric's one-man stampede just in time to avoid a broken spine. He crashes into that poor chair he brought down so long ago, splintering it into several pieces.

Better it than me, I guess.

I start running towards the stairs, hoping to get out of the house now that I'm finally out of those accursed chains. I hear Cartman cursing loudly.

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!"

Oh no, he did not just call to his mother for help.

Pathetic.

I turn to stare at him incredulously, only to groan when I hear that deluded woman come tottering towards the basement door. Cartman takes the opportunity to lunge at me, and I duck. He crashes into the basement door, effectively shutting his dopey mother outside and giving me a chance to get away from him again.

"Eric? Sweetie, are you okay?" I hear through the door. Cartman bellows a response that sends her running away, before turning to leap at me again red in the face and panting.

The Fatass really is struggling to stay upright. He probably hasn't exercised this much in… well, ever. I dodge his advances yet again and pause to examine my surroundings, hoping for a way out.

I spy a window a few steps away and move towards it, only to trip and fall to the floor. I look around to see a fat, grubby hand wrapped around my ankle. The Fatass snuck up on me whilst I was looking for an escape. Bastard.

He was grinning maliciously as he dragged me towards him. I flailed, feeling smug satisfaction when I managed to kick him in the face. Feeling his nose break under my old shoe was oddly comforting. I'm not completely helpless.

The Fatass roared in pain and jerked his hand roughly. The movement yanked me backwards and at an awkward angle, and I screamed when I felt the pressure snap my ankle.

There's no escape for me now, and judging by the shit-eating grin on the grotesque face, he knows it.

I struggle to keep the tears of pain from blurring my sight; and I kick my good leg, catching the bastard's wrist. He yelps and lets me go. I immediately turn to try and get myself as far away from him as possible before he decides to come after me.

Before I could get more than two boy lengths away from him, the Fatass comes charging at me, snarling viciously. I raise my hand to protect my head and chest, only to yelp when he lands heavily on top of me, knees either side of my thighs.

This is not going well.

I feel him pry my arms away from my body and pin them above my head. I glare up at him, all of my loathing and anger as evident on my face as his smug hatred is visible on his. The Fatass leers at me, before pulling something out of his coat pocket.

He dangles it in front of my face, and I see a pocket switch-blade. A knife.

He flicks it open and traces my cheek with it. I wince as its freshly sharpened blade trails a line of blood down my face. I never would've picked Cartman for blood play.

He laughs at my disgusted expression, before pinning my arm flat out t my side, wrist to the air and sleeves rolled up to my elbows.

"He'll never see you without seeing me," He said again, whispering it almost to himself, the mad tosser.

Before I have the chance to ask him what the hell he's on about, my voice is taken away from me, along with my breath. I choke, gasping for oxygen as he lies on top of me and moves both arms to my exposed one.

A pudgy hand holds my elbow in place, and I suddenly feel a stab of pain. My breathless scream sounds somewhat strangled as again and again he cuts into my arm, in a seemingly ordered fashion. I gasp for breath, and scream again.

Eventually the pain changes from the constant stabbing to a dull stinging, and I feel the Fatass heave his massive weight off my chest, leaving me free to regain my breath. I feel the gasping sobs slowly return to normal, and eventually feel recovered enough to take a look at what he's done to me.

At first all I see is red. Red blood splattered all over my sleeve, my arm, the floor, the knife that he's left next to my elbow, too far away for me to grab and use against him…

Bastard.

Then, eventually, the red on my arm gains clarity. What was once random slices now become letters, a single word, carved into my body for all to see:

FAGGOT.

I feel tears slide down my face as I realise that the hated word will be with me forever, and I will never be able to look myself in the mirror without seeing those scars and remembering this accursed room and this bastard.

That's what he meant by not seeing me without seeing him. Fucking hell.

That Fatass was panting. How could cutting up someone exhaust him so? He's more pathetic than I gave him credit for.

"You're… pathetic…" I wheeze; my breath is still shaky. I think I'm going to be sick. "How can one lousy word be so much effort? You sicken me."

Hey, if I'm going to Hell, I want it to be thorough.

I hear the Fatass growl, and I start laughing. I'm not even sure why. It's probably that or start crying. Honestly, does he think a mere noise will make me fear him now? He has cut me, made me bleed. I don't think anything will frighten me now.

The laughing dies out as a roll to the side – the side not stained with my own blood – and vomit violently, absently trying to get as much of it on the bastard's shoes as possible. Petty revenge, but satisfying nonetheless as his broken nose twitches and his face screws up in disgust.

"Watch where you're leaving your gay germs, faggot," He hisses, walking around my prone form and bending to pick up the tainted knife. I laugh again, my voice ragged and my throat tasting like bile.

"You think… that calling me faggot will… insult me in the slightest?" I hiss, eyes flashing with rebellion. I hate this man. I hate him with a passion. If Satan were to appear now in all his glory and drag this bastard kicking and screaming to the lowest, most painful pits of Hell right at this moment, it would still be too good for this fat fuck.

"You think anything you do to me now will have any effect on me?" I dare in a hoarse grunt.

The answering grin says it all, really.

"Oh poor, naïve Pip… I'm no where near done with you yet." The Fatass sneers, before leaning down to trace another bloody trail down my other cheek.

**AN ~**

**I am so sorry, guys. Really. I can't believe it's taken me so long to get my stuff together and write this.**

**I just hope there are still people out there who are still reading this, after all the messing around I've done to you poor people.**

**Apologies and internet ice cream for all!**

**Now, I know in my last AN I promised epiphanies and sexual tension, but that lot will have to wait until the next chapter, which I'm glad to say is already half-written. You won't have to wait so long this time!**

**But hey, I never said the sexual tension was between Cartman and Pip, did I? I still earned my M rating, as far as I'm aware… I'm sorry for any squeamish readers who have disliked this chapter, and all flames are welcome, considering I'm going to Hell anyway…**

**All those expecting rape, I'd just like to point out that none of the aspects of this story are stereotypical, and so you shouldn't expect the norm ;) I mean, you've all been saying how you like this different version of Pip, so I couldn't let him be violated by Fatass, now could I?**

**That's just cruel.**

**And so, until next time!**

**Zanchev. **

**_PS. To all those adorable squeamish people who took my advice and are thoroughly confused right now, this chapter is basically Cartman torturing Pip with a knife. No rape, no sexy stuff at all. Pure violence. Oh, and Pip now has the word 'faggot' carved into his arm._**

_**Carry on.**_

_**Z.**_


	12. the hell took you so long? bastard

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

_Thoughts are in Italics_

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**Warning: The M rating from last chapter in still in effect. The squeamish are once again advised to skip to the AN at the end, k?**

**DIP**

I feel faint, and I'm sure the blood loss is starting to take its toll. With any luck, I'll be unconscious soon, and death will come not long after.

As Cartman the Bastard cuts open my shirt and begins the word-writing process again, I find my thoughts dazedly drifting from the pain to memories of other times. Happier times. The only happy times I've ever really had.

Times with Damien.

The harsh kisses, the teasing banter, the intense and often rough sex, the gentle embraces and whispered professions of love…

All of it gone in a moment, and yet lasting an eternity.

I feel a particularly deep gash on my stomach and look down to see the Fatass sitting back to admire his handiwork. I wonder if he's done playing Frankenstein yet.

"Now that's prefect," The fat fuck announces, grinning. "Now he'll never be able to touch you either."

I look down again, but I can't make out what he's done.

"I can't read my own chest, bastard, care to tell me what it says?" I ask as nonchalantly as I can when I feel the need to vomit once more. The stench of blood will never leave me, I suspect.

The Fatass' smirk makes me wonder idly what he's done that's so satisfying.

"It doesn't say anything," He announces, chuckling at his own wit. I sigh, there's obviously more.

"I merely claimed you for myself," He says simply.

I stare at him until he grows uncomfortable. It's a pathetically short staring contest.

"I carved a cross into your chest, and my initials into your gut," He announces, smiling proudly. "You always said you were religious, just helping you along the road to righteousness."

I snort. He actually thinks crosses have an affect on Damien? He needs to be put out of his misery. Well, I won't be the one to burst his bubble. It's not like I have enough breath to tell him anyway.

I cough slightly, and taste blood on my lips. Great, as if I'm not losing enough of it already.

_I'm oddly alert for someone close to death_, I think idly as I watch the Fatass congratulate himself. I'm seeing things in slow motion, and I feel strangely calm. _It must be the blood loss,_ I reason. It's making me feel… well, numb isn't the right word, but it'll do for now.

The Fatass seems to be coming down from his victory high, finally paying attention to his surroundings. He seems anxious, jittery, scared…?

What the hell could he be scared of, when I'm the only one here?

That's when I feel the rumbling.

The ground is shaking, moving, cracking to form a gaping great chasm in the middle of Cartman's basement.

That's going to leave one hell of a renovator bill.

From the rift in the floor I see flames spurting, licking the ceiling and heating my cold body. The Fatass screams, the pansy.

But I must be seeing things. From the flames emerges the one person I thought I'd never see again.

Damien.

Eyes ablaze with pure fury and fangs bared, he looks like the harbinger of death. Whose death, I'm not sure. All I know is that if Damien has any say in the matter, it's going to be long, painful and very, very bloody.

"ERIC CARTMAN. YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS." He roars, and in his voice I can hear centuries of evil intent and bloodlust. It's awe inspiring and terrifying all at once. I'm not sure whether to swoon or piss myself in fear.

The Fatass does the latter for me.

Gross.

"S-stay the fuck away from me!" The fat fuck whimpers, crawling away from me and my incredibly pissed off boyfriend. It's satisfying to see the bastard look so weak, crawling on all fours, covered in piss and vomit like some kind of vile, obese baby.

Damien stalks forward, seeming to hover a few inches from the floor, like some dark angel of destruction, which isn't too far from the truth, really. I find myself smiling as the Fatass cowers in the corner that I was once chained to. The irony of the switcheroo is not lost on either of us, and the fat bastard whimpers pitifully.

"You kidnap my boyfriend, lock him in a basement, starve him, torture him and attempt to keep him from me forever, almost killing him, and you expect me to stay away? You're even more retarded than I thought, Fatass," Damien says softly, dangerously.

I could kiss him.

The Fatass' eyes widen in realisation and terror, and I think he's soiled himself again. Bloody pathetic, if you ask me.

I watch as Damien storms towards Cartman and grabs the front of his shirt. The fat fuck shrieks in pain and fear and he is hoisted high into the air and held effortlessly above Damien's head.

"Apologise right now."

A vague, high-pitched giggle escapes my lips. Trust Damien to ask for an apology before murdering someone.

"I-I-I'm sorry!" The Fatass wails, crying and snivelling and acting like the baby he is. Damien shakes him slightly, obviously enjoying himself.

"Not good enough."

Damien drops the sobbing boy to the floor with a sickening crunch. Cartman screams, his leg clearly snapped and bent at an obscure angle. Damien sneers before turning towards me.

"Are you alright, Pip?"

I roll my eyes, biting back the urge to respond harshly.

_Of course I'm not alright. I've been held captive for I don't know how long, starved, tortured, insulted and whined at. I'm cold, I'm hungry, I'm suffering from major blood loss and right now all I want is for you to take me home and pin me to the bed and –_

"I'm fine." I reply weakly. Damien smiles at my response and I feel my already faint heartbeat stutter at his soft expression.

Jesus Christ, I'm turning into such a bloody girl.

I look beyond my rescuer to my captor, only to frown when I see a flash of silver. I realise what it is and my eye widen in horror.

"DAMIEN!" I shout hoarsely, unable to warn him further as the silver switchblade careens through the air, aimed straight at my lover's chest…

**AN ~**

**Don't worry, I'm not that mean.**

**This is merely an intermission designed for you all to run and grab the popcorn before the fun starts.**

***insert elevator music***

**Everyone back yet?**

**No?**

**Oh come on!**

**Now, is that everyone?**

**Good.**

**And on with the show!**

I hear the Fatass yell in triumph as the knife twists through the air with a deadly accuracy that surprises me. I feel my jaw drop in a silent scream and Damien turns to face the danger, too late.

The knife strikes, embedding itself deeply into its target. Part of me is impressed that the Fatass had the strength to execute such a throw.

But most of me is breathing a sigh of relief. Damien grins as he tosses the seat of that old broken chair aside, knife and all. Cartman screams in fury, both at Damien's quick thinking and at my obvious happiness.

"Not a bad plan, but honestly. You couldn't even dream of hitting me with a knife. Thrown at human speed, no less." Damien says, chuckling slightly.

The Fatass moves to swear loudly and violently at us, but Damien sighs.

"I'm bored now, I want to go home."

And with that, the son of Satan step forward, grabs Cartman around the neck and squeezes. The bastard's eyes roll back and he gasps for breath, unable to scream, unable to plead, unable to curse.

Blissful silence.

The bastard falls roughly to the floor. He doesn't move.

Damien kicks him in the ribs for good measure before turning back to me and lifting me bridal style into his arms.

"Is… is he dead?" I ask softly, holding onto my hero for dear life.

"No, but he'll never mess with us again," Damien promises, smiling softly at me. I feel a betraying blush creep across my face.

Fucking hell, there's that girly Pip again.

"I love you," Damien says. I smile.

"I know."

"I'll never let you go again."

"Good."

"I'm so sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

Damien falls silent, and I look away from his face only to see that we've somehow ended up outside. I look at him curiously, and he shrugs.

"Perks of an undead father." He says, smirking. I nod, smiling back.

I curl into Damien's chest as he starts walking home. It's night time, the moon high in the sky and no one to be seen. I yawn, and feel like I'm about to pass out.

"Damien."

"Yes, my love?"

I roll my eyes at the stupid pet name, but focus. There's something I need to say before the treacherous unconsciousness takes over.

"Thanks for rescuing me," I whisper, hugging him close. I can hear the smile in his reply.

"I would never stop until I found and recued you. I'd do anything for you, I love you."

I smile against his shirt.

"In that case…" I say slowly,

"What?" came the somewhat apprehensive response.

"What the hell took you so long?" I ask; eyes drooping as sleep slowly seeps into my mind, fogging over my eyes and slowing down my thoughts.

I hear Damien laughing as I fall under sleep's spell, my last thought echoing through my mind happily.

_I'm free._

**AN ~**

**And Damien finally gets his act together and saves the day!**

**You can all go home now.**

**No, really.**

**Dedicated to Scarlet Wolf and 0chibi0lawliet0 for asking about whether Damien was ever gonna show up :D**

**Now, before you all spam me with hate for letting the Fatass live, I'd like to point out that Damien is not evil, and neither is Pip. Pip may have wanted revenge, but he'd probably feel bad about it later, and Damien wouldn't want Pip unhappy, and so just knocked him out instead of killing him.**

**Makes sense to me, idk about you guys.**

**And so, until next time,**

**Zanchev.**

_**PS. To the squeamish people who avoided this chapter like the plague, I promise you'll be able to read the next one, k?**_

_**Thanks for being patient. **_

_**Z.**_


	13. stupid hormones

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

_Thoughts are in Italics_

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

Swirling colours, blurry images, muffled voices, vague thoughts…

And a really, _really_ bad headache.

I moan and close my eyes, allowing the harsh whites and bizarre triangles to give way to calm dark and comforting emptiness. I roll over, only to hit something solid and… warm?

I open my eyes again only to see vibrant red and soulless black encompassing my vision. The blurred image slowly comes into focus, and I hear myself sigh contentedly.

Damien.

The big solid thing chuckles softly, wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders and kissing the top of my head. I squirm a little and – heaven forbid – start to blush, stupid bloody hormones.

"Well, well, well…" Damien whispers huskily in my ear, sending traitorous shivers down my spine. "Sleeping Beauty, back from the dead, I see."

I roll my eyes, stretching lazily and yawning a little.

"How long was I out?" I sigh, curling back into his warm chest. His arms wrap around me again, and I feel my eyes drooping.

"A few days, I lost count. You were really worn out."

My half-shut eyes snap open and I leap out of bed, an angry cry wrenching itself from my throat. I stand there, shivering in the cold, staring at Damien in disbelief. How the hell could he let me just lie there for days?

"What? How could I sleep for that long?" I yelp, sprinting to the floor length mirror in the corner and giving myself a once over. I am – unsurprisingly, know Damien – completely naked, giving me the perfect view of my body. I'm thin, really thin. I look almost malnourished, with my ribs visible through the skin and my stomach very nearly concave. My hair is long, tangled and greasy, my face covered in rough stubble.

I look like shit.

"Well, you were gone for nearly a week before I found you. You hadn't been sleeping or eating properly there, and you were abused – you can't deny that."

Damien continued to argue his case as I kept taking stock of my appearance. Eyes sallow, haunted looking, lips down-turned in an almost permanent grimace, scars from the Fatass still angry and red on my chest, gut and arm. I scowl at the marks, silently cursing the fat fuck who put them there.

"…ip, are you even listening to me? Pip?"

I blink, slowly sinking back into reality. I shake my head before turning determinedly away from the mirror to face my - boyfriend? Lover? Saviour? Mutually beneficial fuck-buddy? I'm not so sure. I mean, I told Fatass we were a couple, and everyone else seems to think so, but…

Right, off topic here.

"Sorry, zoned out a bit there," I apologise, rubbing the back of my neck sheepishly. He merely grins, before repeating himself for my benefit – or because he likes the sound of his own voice, either reason works.

"When I finally knocked the Fat bastard out, you were lying on the floor, almost unconscious and bleeding. A lot. It's not at all surprising you slept for so long. Your body needed the chance to heal. Besides, it's not like I left you alone."

I nod slowly, accepting his reasoning, before pausing.

"Wait, you didn't kill the Fatass?" I ask; my eyes narrowing as Damien shakes his head. "What kind of demon boyfriend are you?"

Damien raises his arms in surrender, chuckling.

"One that knows you would've been sad that he died after you got back into your normal headspace. My already squinting eyes narrowed even further, and I hear a growl on the tip on my tongue.

"You're kidding, right? I want that fat fuck's head on a freaking silver platter, with his spleen as an entre!" I screech; my hands clenched into fists.

"And that is exactly why I was waiting for you to get into the right headspace," Damien replied firmly. "You would've been upset if I killed him – don't deny it, it's true."

I'm ready to throttle him. How could I be not ok with the bastard dying? The slower and more painful it was, the better.

"I'm not finished," Damien answered my unspoken thoughts. Stupid demon boyfriend, always being the fucking voice of reason…

"You would've been upset. I mean, sure you'd have been happy he was gone, but when you got to this point you'd have been furious. Remember, I haven't killed him, so now you can."

I pause in my mental cursing of the Thing Known as Fatass and the Demon with a Fucking Conscience. Bastard has a point.

"Wait, what?"

"When you've fully recovered, I'll help you get your revenge. I know you Pip, the real you. You bottle up what's really going on in your head and you plot their comeuppance meticulously. Your revenge is always careful, sly and humiliating as well as painful. It's quite devilish really," Damien chuckles.

"I like your style, and I want to help."

I'm liking this voice of reason.

"So, when I'm fed and rested, we can go on a rampage?" I ask, excitement leaking into my voice. The thoughts from when I set fire to the school haven't gone away, and my time in that hell-hole only made them more potent. I'm out for blood now.

"Now, now... No killing spree for you. Revenge only, got that?" Damien chuckles, waggling a finger at me like I'm a child who's been caught stealing the cookies that Daddy doesn't really like all that much anyway.

I sigh, pouting a little, before nodding grudgingly. I'm pulled from my standing position onto the bed and into the smug bastard's arms. Stupid hormones making me feel all warm and fuzzy at that look in the Stupid Satan's Spawn's eyes…

Again the bastard seems to read my mind and pulls me closer, snuggling his face into the crook of my neck and purring like a fucking kitten.

More like a Hell-hound.

Hey, I just made a joke.

I sigh, resigning myself to my horrible fate – shut up – and close my eyes, hoping to sleep some more. I concentrate on the rise and fall of Damien's chest, letting it lull me into a warm, comfortable state of half-slumber.

Damien grins and wraps his arms tighter around my waist, snuggling closer to me and sharing his body heat. I feel him kiss the back of my neck and I shiver.

Oh yeah, I could get used to this.

**AN ~**

**Hey guys!**

**So sorry about not getting this up sooner, but real life got in the way again, and this time there really was no way I could avoid it – believe me, I tried.**

**It was going to be up two weeks ago, but a close friend died and, well, you know how it is…**

**Anyway – the story!**

**This chapter, and the next, are purely slightly fluffy filler chapters, designed to get Pip back on his feet for the next thing. **

**Some beautiful reviewer seemed excited that there was more, and so I feel I have to make this clear:**

**This is by no means the end of our tale, there is still quite a bit left to go. This was merely the climax before the climax, if you understand me.**

**If you don't, don't worry, not many do. :D**

**And so, my beautiful readers and reviewers (HINT HINT) I bid you farewell.**

**Until the next one!**

**Zanchev.**


	14. Tell me you're joking

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

_Thoughts are in Italics_

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

I'm almost asleep when suddenly another morsel of Damien's earlier speech pops into my head.

"What do you mean, you didn't leave me alone?"

Damien snorts, rolling his eyes at my apparent stupidity.

"You were taken from me, lost and I couldn't find you. For a week I searched, hunted you down, trying to make sure you were safe. I wasn't about to leave you alone and vulnerable in the house when I'd just gotten you back, now was I?"

"So you stayed here in the house the whole time?" I ask; confused at the blatant 'are-you-really-that-stupid' look I'm getting from the demon on the bed. Demon in bed. Both.

Veering off topic here.

The leer didn't go away, and I slowly put two and two together.

"Wait, you didn't leave me at all? You stayed in this room-" another look "-this bed the whole fucking time?" I push away from him in shock. Why the hell would he do that?

"Of course, idiot. I told you, I'm not risking losing you again." Damien rolls his eyes and moves closer to resume our cuddling. I hold him back.

"But what about food? Water? You would've needed sustenance of some kind." I argue, eyeing him for signs similar to mine – hollowed stomach, thin face. Damien seemed to possess none of these. In fact, he looked healthier than I'd seen him in ages.

"Son of the Devil, remember? I don't technically need food and drink – not anymore. When I hit adulthood – which is sixteen for demons – I no longer needed it, I was no longer weakened by such petty human trivialities. Sure, they're nice, but I don't need them to survive."

The bastard fell silent for me to process this. Trying to wrap your head around the fact that the only person in the world who cares about you doesn't eat or drink is no mean feat. Finally, after much deliberation, I decide I won't kill him for not telling me this.

"You could've told me sooner," I grumble, allowing him to pull me closer and encircle his arms around me again. A vague chuckle and a kiss to the forehead are my only answer. I huff, but allow him to coddle me some more.

This newest revelation is basically a slap in the face for my mortality. Knowing that my boyfriend, the man I've become addicted to, has no need of physical, human bodily functions like eating and – more than likely – sleeping has me on edge.

Why would a man who has nothing tying him to this bleak plane of existence want to stay here? When one has the vastness of this world, the next world, and all worlds in between like Damien has, what could possibly keep them – him – in one place?

What is there to stop Damien from leaving me?

He has been called away on business by his father increasingly often since he turned sixteen – since he, as I now know, became a full-fledged demon. He controls the demons and ghosts and things that go bump in the night, he can almost literally do anything he likes.

So why would he waste his time on a puny, insignificant mortal like me?

I'm pulled from my thoughts when Damien makes a small noise and pulls me closer, nuzzling into my neck and sighing happily. I smile when he closes his eyes and makes himself comfortable. I'm so lucky to have him here with me…

That's another thing. Why did he come after me? When I was gone, he could've left me there, taken anyone – anything he wanted, so why waste all those resources coming after me?

What do I have to give?

Well, aside from my arse, which Damien takes great pleasure in praising at every opportunity.

Come to think of it; I really do have nothing to offer. Nothing I have to give could possibly tempt or entice a being as powerful as Damien to stay with me. It's only a matter of time before he gets bored with my company – my body – and then he'll leave me for some other piece of arse in some other dimension.

And where does that leave me? With absolutely nothing, craving his touch, his kiss, like some common druggie.

Because really; that's all I am. A pathetic, useless druggie, addicted to everything that is Damien. His scent, his touch, the glint in his red eyes…

Addicted to the devil, the only being on this or any other planet with no need for anything I can give.

Perfect.

Damien mutters something I can't make out, and clutches my closer. My chest tightens and I feel an aching in my lungs, my stomach, my head… I feel dizzy and on top of the world at the same time. Everything is blurred and spinning, and yet strangely in focus. Blood goes rushing, pulsing through my system, spreading the heady feeling, sending it tingling through every vein, every pore of my body.

Just this simple touch is like the biggest, best buzz in the world. A half-asleep Damien holding me like a stuffed animal is the best high I could possibly ask for. I mentally kick myself for feeling this way, especially knowing how short-lived this… arrangement will be.

But what can I do?

What else can little mortal me do, apart from enjoy every fix I can get my hands on, before my drug goes elsewhere?

And so, like the pathetic addict I am, I ignore my mind and curl further into my addiction, letting Damien snuggle closer and hope to hell it doesn't hurt too badly when he's no longer there.

**AN ~**

**Hello my faithful readers!**

**I am so, so sorry for my abysmal failure at getting this chapter up sooner, but sadly real life got in the way once again. I've had way too much to do recently, and haven't had the chance to finish this as quickly as I'd like.**

**Sadly, writer's block didn't exactly help me any.**

**But now I am back and ready to spend my sleepless nights doing something vaguely productive! So hopefully the next one isn't nearly so distant.**

**And in response to Scarlet Wolf, that friend from last time committed suicide in one of the worst ways, one I'd really much rather not talk about so publically. If you really want to know, give me a way to tell you in private, if that's not too much trouble.**

**Anyhoo,**

**Until next time!**

**Zanchev.**


	15. THREE FUCKING DAYS

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

_Thoughts are in Italics_

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

Three days.

Three. Fucking. Days.

That's how long it's been since I've seen him, smelt him, touched him, heard his voice, had any contact with him whatsoever.

I can't do this.

I can not deal with this.

Damien has been gone for three days – three measly fucking days – and already I'm on edge, snappy and irritated. I'm pathetic, pining after him after so short a time. But at the moment I'm too stressed to give a shit about how I must look to everyone else – how pathetic and girly and gay I look.

Hell, I probably seem as gay as a handbag full of fucking rainbows right now, but I don't care.

All I care about is the feeling that isn't there, the unmistakable feeling that I only get around Damien. I have no idea what it is; only that it isn't there. It's not there and no matter what I do I can't get it back.

And it's killing me.

I hurt.

Everything hurts.

My head, my stomach, my legs and arms and chest and… Ugh. Everything just aches, and I have no idea why.

I feel heavy and sore and ugly and sick and I just want to die.

And it's all Damien's fault, the bastard.

He's been gone for too long. It's been three days and I need him. I physically need him right here, right now, before I spontaneously burst into flames or magically implode or something.

Stupid Damien, stupid business calls. Stupid Damien's dad; making him leave me alone for three whole fucking days…

Three days, six hours, twelve minutes and forty-seven… forty-eight… forty-nine seconds, and counting.

Always fucking counting. Counting the seconds since he's gone, and 'til he comes back and takes way this ugly, horrid feeling and replaces it with the good that only he can give me.

Stupid addiction, stupid cravings, stupid withdrawals…

Stupid Damien.

Stupid me.

I shouldn't need it this much. I shouldn't need HIM this much. Wasn't I thinking, less than a week ago, that he could very easily leave me once he gets bored? How the hell am I going to live with permanent separation if a mere three days has me shaking and sweating and refusing to leave my house?

How the hell will I survive a lifetime if I can barely survive half a week?

Pathetic, stupid me, addicted to something so dangerous, so carefree and spontaneous and unpredictable. I'll never survive at this rate. Someone just shoot me now.

Ugh, I hate this.

I hate that he makes me like this, without even trying, the bastard.

He could so easily just leave me, walk away and leave me behind, panting after him like a dog in heat until I pine away to nothing, waiting for him to come back…

Shit, that's what he's done, isn't it?

He's gone and left me, he's found some bird in an alternate world and has forgotten all about me, leaving me here to die.

Or at least, suffer excruciatingly until further notice.

That bastard!

Oh I'm gonna kill him.

Scratch that. I'm gonna kill myself first, to get rid of this bloody awful feeling in my gut, and then I'm gonna spend the rest of eternity in Hell giving him... well... hell.

But first I gotta get rid of this sickening tinge to my stomach, the heaviness in my chest, the ache in my head and arms, the stinging behind my eyes…

Now how to do it…?

I could take some pills, swallow half a bottle of painkillers and not wake up.

I could do it the stereotypical ways: cutting, hanging, suffocation, drowning, jumping off a building…

I could drink myself into coma.

That could work.

Anything – ANYTHING – to get rid of this feeling. This absence of the nice feeling that only Damien can bring.

I stumble from the bedroom and down the hall, aiming for the stairs. I overestimate by a few feet and find myself tumbling down, down, down, down…

Ouch.

That hurt.

I stagger to my feet, nursing my now pounding head and stumble towards the sitting room – in particular, towards the small cabinet in the corner of said sitting room. The liquor cabinet; God's gift to the pathetically lonely and needy. Horny, too…

I slowly fall to my knees in front of the blessed little box and open the doors to see a neat line of nearly-full bottles winking up at me, welcoming me, inviting me to drink my fill.

I pick up the nearest bottle – UK's finest single malt whiskey, oh yeah – and open it up, breathing in the heavenly scent of the alcohol. I lift the bottle to my lips and take a swig, shuddering as the fiery liquid slides down my aching throat and coils in my pained stomach.

That's some good shit.

I move to the nearest chair and slump down, nursing the bottle between my thighs and trying to find a comfortable position on the bloody piece of furniture. Giving up on comfort quickly, I focus on imbibing as much of the alcohol as I possibly can in as short a time as is humanly feasible.

This is some strong shit…

Well, at least the aching in my head and stomach has softened some, now if only the bloody pain in my chest would take a cue card and fucking stop already…

More alcohol. That'll help.

…

…

It didn't.

The pain in my stomach may be gone, but there's a new feeling – one that's not nearly as pleasant as one would expect. I lurch upright, only to stagger to the side.

I'm not drunk; I just have a slight case of vertigo. Or something.

I stagger to the nearest sink – kitchen is close to the sitting room, thank fuck – and empty the contents of my stomach into the basin. Bloody waste of good whiskey that.

Damn.

I sink to the floor beside the kitchen table and bury my head between my knees, breathing through my mouth in an attempt at decreasing my sudden nausea. I take a look at the bottle in my hand.

Probably not a good idea to drink more, is it?

Eh, fuck it.

**AN ~**

**Hello, my faithful readers!**

**I told you it wouldn't take long for this next one! And my plans for the next one are already under way.**

**So yeah, Pip is missing Damien – not that he'd admit it – and is drowning his sorrows :D**

**Anyhow, until next time!**

**Zanchev.**


	16. Hammered as a nail

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

_Thoughts are in Italics_

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

Ya know what?

Life'd be so much easier'f I was dead.

No, think 'bout it.

'f I was dead, I'd have no need f' food or drink or sleep, jus' like Damien. 'f I was dead, I cud be in Hell an' in this world, so I cud follow his sseh-sec-sexy ass ev'rywhere, 'n' he wouldn' have to worry 'bout me. 'Cuz I'd already be dead, see, so techn'c'lly I couldn't die again.

I think.

Yeah, life'd be better 'f I was dead.

But then, there is the matter of sex. Hot, sexy sex with hot sexy Damien. Yes, please.

But, ev'n with him being the spawn of Satan 'n' all, even he'd draw the line at necrof- necrofilly-necrifolly- sleeping with a dead person, wouldn't he?

Yeah, probably.

Damn it.

Only flaw in my genius plan, that.

Hmmmm…

Maybe… I could, I dunno, talk Dam into sex…

Pffft, that'd be the day, when I actually have to convince Damien the Horny Bastard to pound me into the mattress…

Damn it, I wan' sex now.

DDAAAAMMIIIEEEEENNNNNNNNN

COME BACK FROM YOUR LAME BIS'NESS THINGY AND FUCK MEEEEEEE…

"Well, that's one way to welcome me home."

I nearly break my neck as I spin my head 'round to see Damien – hot sexy Damien – standing in the door to th' kitchen, smirking.

Shit, I yelled that out loud, din't I?

Ahh, fuck it.

"Damien!" I shout happily, trying to get gracefully to my feet, and ending up on my face. Yeah, that's me, Pip the ballet dancer, with moves so elegant they border on the idiotic. Imagine that, me in a tutu. And Damien in a leotard and tights, ready to catch me from my epic pirouette…

Mmmmmmmmm Damien in tights. Tight tights, showin' it all off…

_Heheheheheheee_….

"You're hammered."

It wasn't a question, but hell if I'm not gonna answer anyways. Not the boss of me, you subtle quirks of the English language.

"As a nail," I giggle. Ah I'm so funny, takes a genius to come up with that after a nearly full bottle of whiskey's been through your system.

Mmm, whiskey... _Wonder if we have any more whiskey_…

I spy Damien looking at my almost empty bottle of whiskey. S'my whiskey, ya bastard. Get your own bloody whiskey.

"I think you've had enough, Pip," Hot sexy Damien says, his red red red eyes lookin' into my very soul. How poetic. I'm a right Pope… no, tha's not right… POE! Tha's it.

His sexy hands wrestle my bloody whiskey away from me – _s'my whiskey, not yours get your own and leave me to my whiskey you're not gettin' any tonight you left me alone for three fucking days _– and puts it on the table, before picking me up like a doll – _I'm not a fucking girl, I have a dick too, ya know, ya cocky bastard… cocky… haha tha's a funny word… cocky… Yeah, Damien's pretty cocky… hehehehehe _– and carrying me up the stairs.

Stupid stairs. Trying to trip me up all the time. You won't catch me this time, Stairs; I have Damien here to keep me away from your deceit!

By the time I figure out that Damien is NOT taking me to bed for hot sexy sex – _Damn it_ – I have already been stripped and dumped in the bathtub. Damien gives me a devilish grin - _ahaha s'funny 'coz he's the Devil_ – before turning the cold water on full blast.

SHIT FUCK DONKEY BALLS is that cold!

I yelp and try to leap out of the so-cold-your-balls-drop-off water, but Damien the Bastard won't let me. He pushes me back into the Fucking Freezing Water of Sex-life Doom, determined to make me suffer.

Soon the bathtub is full of my own personal Antarctica, and Damien turns off the stream of deathly cold. I muster up my most hateful glare – how dare he permanently disadvantage my poor parts? What'd my dick ever do to him? Nothing, that's what – it's his dick that was doing the doing.

Damn it, I want sex still…

I half-notice Damien grinning at me for some stupid reason – sadistic bastard is enjoying my discomfort, the tosser–

OH BLOODY BUGGERING FUCK!

I gasp and splutter, all sense of blissful drunkenness gone in the instant that stupid Bastard Damien tipped a bucketful of the icy water over my head.

Hello, Sobriety.

Goodbye, happy feelings.

I groan, rubbing water from my eyes and giving Damien my best death stare. He merely grins and shrugs it off like everything was normal, like any normal teenager would tip icy cold water all over their happily smashed boyfriend for the hell of it.

Bastard.

I start shivering, and finally that whole romantic chivalry crap starts to kick in. Damien jumps up and fetches me a towel, helping me stagger out of the bath – I swear I've got frostbite – and wrapping the fluffy cloth around me, trying to warm me up. Too late now, you bloody wanker. I'm going to die of hypothermia and it's all your fault.

"The hell was that for?" I growl, my voice a little scratchy from the throwing up and the draining a large bottle of hard liquor. Damien chuckles, wrapping an arm around my towel-covered body and steering me towards the bedroom.

"Well, you aren't drunk any more, are you?" He points out, and I can't help but agree. I'm certainly not drunk anymore. Not to mention th–

Oh, God, here comes the hangover.

Hello, headache.

Goodbye, Damien's manhood…

**AN ~**

**Okay, be honest.**

**Did I suck at writing as a horny, drunken British teenager? I did, didn't I?**

**Damn.**

**Ah well, if you guys got a laugh out of it, then my work here is done… **

**I swear I had far, far too much fun with typing up this one. Drunkard Pip is hilarious.**

**I must say I needed the slightly more light-heartedness of this chapter – stressed out much XD**

**Now, in response to Scarlet Wolf's review of the chapter before last (sorry, didn't read the reviews till after the other chapter was posted)… Please, don't feel too bad for me, I'll be fine. And it's not that I don't want you knowing, it's just that I'm not sure everyone wants to hear the gory details about some guy they never knew… Gotta make sure I'm not wasting all your time, right? :D**

**Coming soon: revelations, revenge, absences, adolescence, alcohol (lots of it), and an ending… Yes, that's right; we're getting close to the end of our tale. D:**

**I estimate about 20 chapters, give or take (most likely give)…**

**So, until next time, **

**Zanchev.**


	17. monotonous me

**South Park**

**Dip**

**Ungodly Addiction**

**Characters:** Phillip 'Pip' Pirrup, Damien the Antichrist.

**Rating:** M for strong language, adult themes, nudity, violence, sexual… stuff… and a really crappy storyline.

_Thoughts are in Italics_

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck._

My head is killing me.

I groan, dragging myself into a sitting position and clutching at my throbbing head. I grit my teeth as a small Neanderthal whacks his stone club against the insides of my skull every few seconds, contemplating the many and varied ways of murdering figments of my imagination.

_Jesus, Mary and Joseph this fucking hurts._

Note to self: next time Damien's off gallivanting about multiple dimensions, tell him to take the key to the alcohol cupboard with him. Maybe that will serve to hinder my consumption of two bottles of vodka… a day…

_Oh God I think I'm gonna be sick._

I drag my sorry arse out of bed and stumble towards the nearest toilet bowl, heaving the alcoholic content of my stomach into the white porcelain basin. The white – damn blinding white – is making my head hurt.

_I'll ask Damien to paint the toilets. Maybe paint them black, or possibly a dark green? That'd hurt less._

I lean back, wiping my mouth and flushing away the evidence of my night. I stagger to my feet to wash my hands and face in the sink, refusing to look into the mirror hanging in front of me. I know that the sight will give me nightmares, and rather I like sleep – too much to ruin it for myself.

Fucking hell, my mouth tastes like I tongue-fucked a constipated mule. Before licking the road clean. Disgusting…

I brush my teeth vigorously, almost pouring half the tube of toothpaste into my mouth to expel the awful bile that seems to have lodged itself between my tastebuds. I spit, rinse and repeat – twice – until I feel that my mouth is clean enough to smell like a garbage tip.

An improvement, I assure you.

Now that my mouth no longer feels like an old horse drowned in a septic tank, I think the next step to an almost productive morning would be coffee. Yes, coffee sounds good.

Pulling on a pair of pants, I stumble downstairs and throw on the coffee machine. The smell of caffeine wafts through the kitchen, making my nose twitch and I drag my hand through my shaggy hair, wincing as a few knots and tangles catch my fingers.

_I need a haircut._

_But first I need to be awake._

_And for that I need coffee._

I pour most of the pot into a large mug and smother the hot black liquid in sugar and cream, sipping at the sweet lukewarm concoction with relish. That's much better. Much, much, _much _better.

I slump at the kitchen table with a groan, taking my coffee with me. I can't believe he's done it _again_. He's bloody well gone and _left me_ again, and I don't know when he's coming back.

Ever since he came of age, he's been called off on more and more of those stupid otherworldly acts of business, and he keeps leaving me here with nothing to do to but drown my sorrows. I mean, what the hell else am I supposed to do?

I have no job, I have no friends, I haven't even finished my high school education, seeing as I kinda wasn't allowed back in once it was rebuilt. Burning the first one to the ground tends to leave a bad reputation, don't ask me why…

All I have now is Damien, and when he buggers off I fill that void with alcohol. At least it doesn't nag you to clean your room.

I look at my arms, where the ugly scars that the Fat Fuck Cartman left were on display for any pervert voyeur peeking in my window to see. I grimace at the insulting word, before draining the rest of my coffee and tossing the mug into a sink full of dirty dishes.

_This place is a nuclear warzone._

_I should probably clean it._

_First I should probably put on clothes._

_Now that's a plan._

With my day laid out before me, I trudge up the stairs and toss on a shirt and my jeans. I glance at my reflection as I go through the bathroom, tugging my hair into the vague resemblance of a ponytail – yes it's that long – and ignoring the haunted look in my eyes.

I wander through the house, absently cleaning here and there. Scrubbing the dishes and sweeping the floors and polishing the mirrors and dusting the tables and bookshelves and chairs and ornaments…

Dull, monotonous work that successfully distracted me until the house was spotless a mere seven, eight hours later. I search the fridge for acceptable foodstuffs to make some tea, but all I can find is some vegetables and an egg or two.

_I need to go shopping…_

_Eh, I'll go tomorrow._

I pull out a frypan and make myself a vegetable omelette before flopping down in front of the television with my dinner and a beer. I swig at the beverage, feeling the faint buzz of alcohol lift my spirits already.

I think I'm going to wake up with another headache tomorrow morning.

I channel surf all the way through my meal, finding nothing remotely interesting on the telly. I sigh as I finish my beer and wash up after myself, unwilling to let the day's work go to waste.

I stand in my crappy little kitchen, eyeing my surroundings with a stern gaze. Everything is clean and tidy, in its place and out of the way. I have nothing to do now, and I find my thoughts automatically twitching towards the alcohol cabinet.

_No._

_I mustn't, I need to stop that._

_Eh. I'll do it tomorrow._

I walk to the corner of the living room, towards the promise of a heady buzz and no more pain… at least not until tomorrow morning.

I hate this routine I've found myself in. When Damien is around everything is beautiful, wild sex, random gift and outings, stealing kisses in the park and scaring the crap out of Kyle's Mom with our PDA… It's pure Heaven together with the heir of Hell. Funny that.

But with Damien gone for days, if not weeks at a time, I'm left here all alone in this house with nothing to do and no one to talk to. I feel like I'm slowly going insane.

I just hope Damien comes back before I do something stupid.

**AN~**

**Jesus Mary mother of God I am so sorry you guys!**

**I meant to have this up, but a mixture of writer's block and real life got in the way - I apologise.**

**I am uber massively grateful to anyone who still reads this after so long, and you can all have internet cocktails. with little umbrellas. and bubbles. yeah.**

**so, this is mainly a filler chapter, but the whole Damien disappearing thing is kinda important, as is the boredom and excessive drinking. so it's important, just not incredibly interesting. And I apologise.**

**Next one up soon.**

**This time real life is leaving me alone from next week onwards, so I should keep that promise.**

**until next time**

**Zanchev**


	18. I miss you

**Ungodly Addiction**

_Thoughts are in Italics_

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

**Warning y'all now, there's sex ahead. **

**Merry Christmas.**

"I'm sorry, Pip."

_Yeah fucking right, you're sorry. Just where the hell have you been for the past few weeks, huh? What the hell were you thinking, leaving me here by myself with nothing to do while you go gallivanting off through time and space doing whatever the fuck you feel like. Do you know how that feels?_

"I understand, Damien, it's ok. You're back now."

Silence.

_You're not saying yes. _

_WHY AREN'T YOU SAYING YES?_

"You are back now, right?"

_Right? RIGHT?_

"I'm sorry, Pip."

Damien sighs, and my world comes crashing down around my ears. He's leaving me, leaving for some wench on some distant rock in a different dimension. He's leaving Earth forever, and leaving me behind with it.

"Dad wants me to another one of those crappy peace things, I'll be gone for another day or two. But then I'm coming right back, I promise. I miss you."

_You miss me? Yeah, right._

_How could Damien, King of the Underworld, Son of Satan possibly miss a flimsy human like me? You're perfect, and I'm awkward. You could have any man on this planet or anyone else's drooling at your feet, so why the hell would you settle for me?_

"I miss you, too."

Damien pulls me into his chest, tucking me under his chin and wrapping his warm arms around me, holding me close. I close my eyes and relish in the warmth of another being, a touch that is not my own. I've been alone too long, I need conversation, I need contact.

I need Damien.

Now, preferably.

I sigh, pulling Damien closer and breathing in his slightly burnt scent. I press my lips to his neck, and sigh again. Damien chuckles and picks me up - I must've lost more weight than I thought - and he carries me up to bed. _Our _bed.

Our bed for the first time in a month.

He throws me onto the sheets and falls on top of me, kissing and licking and making me gasp and squirm. I pull his lips to mine and open my mouth wide for his invading tongue, moaning when I can feel him exploring my teeth and gums and tongue.

Oh, I've missed this.

Missed _him._

Damien pulls away and sits up, smirking at me when I whine and fidget. It's not fair, I haven't seen him for weeks and chooses _now _to tease me?

My mouth goes dry when I see Damien pull his shirt off, and then quickly scramble to remove mine as well. As his hands brush lightly along my side, I moan at the first skin-on-skin contact I've had in longer than I can remember.

I have decided that teasing is perfectly acceptable at this stage, so long as Damien keeps _touching _me.

Oooooohhhhh, yes exactly like tha - OH _FUCK_!

Damien chuckles when my back arches off the bed, and he rolls his eyes before returning his lips to their previous occupation. I gasp and moan and shout to the heavens as Damien skillfully slides his tongue up and down, up and down, up and down my throbbing erection, taking it into his mouth and _- ooooh fuckfuckfuck don't stop don't stop don't stop _- sucking hard.

My head falls back, neck stretched and hair sweaty as Damien - beautiful, beloved, _sinfully-good-with-his-tongue_ Damien - gives me one last hard suck before pulling away and blowing gently on my aching cock.

I'm panting and my eyes are closed but I can tell that Damien is smirking by the agonizingly slow pace he insists upon moving. I tell him to hurry the fuck up for I'm lost for words again.

He laughs and thrusts two fingers in, scissoring and stretching and making me scream. It's been so long, it's been too long…

It fucking _hurts_.

I can feel tears pouring down my face as I struggle to adjust to the probing, invading fingers as a third slides alongside the others. I bite my lip to refrain from swearing and grip the sheets hard enough to hear a ripping noise.

Great. Those were my favourite sheets.

Suddenly the fingers are gone and something much larger is pushing past my clenching muscles, taking their place. I can't hold it back this time, and a hoarse scream tears itself from my throat.

OW!

_OW_!

"Pip? You ok?"

_Not I'm not ok you selfish prick, I'm in fucking pain and could you do me a favour and just fucking go-_

"Yeah, just give me a minute."

I take a big deep breath. And then another one. In, out, in, out, in, out…

You know, the mantra really isn't helping.

I sigh and nod my assent to Damien, waiting for the sharp thrusting and intense fucking that we've always done.

But it doesn't come.

Instead Damien takes him time, kissing away my tears and slowly inching his way in, letting me adjust and shift until I'm comfortable. When he pulls out, it's just as gentle as before and soon we're moving together, as equals as opposed to Damien's usual gung-ho style.

The tears are still dripping down my face, but I fear they aren't all from the pain anymore.

I can't believe it - we're making love.

Not fucking, no anger or violence or wild, mindless lust this time. This is gentle, loving, different, nice wonderful, so fucking wonderful…

My back arches and I scream my release, barely registering when Damien does the same. We collapse together on the bed and share a few mindlessly sweet kisses before my brain reconnects with my body.

What the hell just happened?

"Damien?"

Said demon sighs and hauls himself up and out of the bed, kissing my forehead and leaving me lying in the big bed alone - again - as he fished for his pants.

"They're on the fan," I tell him. "But, Dam-"

"Shhh, Pip, relax, just sleep, I promise I'll be back in a few days, tops."

Damien plants another soft kiss on my forehead and moves for the door. I watch helplessly as Damien once again moves to leave my life with no idea whether he'll return, despite his promises…

"Take me with you," I blurt out, pink staining my cheeks when Damien gives me an odd look. I look at him defiantly, refusing to back down_. I want to go with you, can't you see that?_

Damien finally shakes his head sadly and moves for the door. I fall backwards, resigned, depressed, angry… but mostly depressed.

"I'm sorry, Pip. I can't," He whispers, before closing the door behind him and leaving again. My eyes close in despair, because I know he'll be gone for ages, and I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to do.

"But, I love you," I whisper, surprised to hear it coming out of my mouth.

I'm even more surprised when I realise it's true.

**AN~**

**HOHOHO**

**Merry Christmas you guys!**

**Happy Hanukkah and any other festivals you celebrate!**

**Here is your holiday present - a slightly smutty, completely angst chapter of UA.**

**I'm sorry it took so long, but I can safely say I'm nearing the end of this little tale.**

**But fear not, there's still a few chapters left in her!**

**Teehee my AN**

**Looks like a**

**Christmas Tree.**

**Like a Boss.**

**And so, from me to you, until next week,**

**Merry Christmas to you all, **

**and I bid thee good night!**

**Zanchev.**


	19. here's my chance

**Ungodly Addiction**

_Thoughts in Italics_

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

"_I__'__m sorry, Pip, I can__'__t__…"_

Why can't I get that outta my head?

It's not like it's a big deal - Damien's got work to do, he can't drag me along with him wherever he's gotta go. He's traveling between dimensions and times and living realms and dead realms and me, a mere human, couldn't possibly follow him to all those different places…

I understand, honest I do.

_So why does it hurt so bad?_

I groan, letting my head fall to the table with a loud, resounding thud, relishing in the throbbing headache coming on. It gives me something to feel in this accursed emptiness that grips me whenever Damien is gone. Something that isn't the faint buzz of alcohol or the dull ache of a hangover.

Well, I guess it's kinda like a hangover, only without the horrendous breath and no memories of the night before.

Instead I have vivid memories of last night. Of Damien and the way he touched, caressed, kissed, loved…

I shake my head, tears blurring my sight and pain ebbing and flowing against my skull like a fucking ocean.

How's that - an ocean of pain. Never ending, ever flowing, never relenting, always fucking there…

I groan, slamming my palm over my eyes as they threaten to tear up and spill over. God, why does it have to hurt so much? To have him leave me behind again and again. I should be used to this by now, right? I know he has work, I know that my frail mortal body can't handle the different dimensions and I'd only weigh him down, drag him backwards…

Fuck, I need to get out of here, out of this dingy little house before I get too depressed. Or go too crazy. I sigh, dragging my slightly sore ass out of bed and dress mindlessly, pulling on shoes as I stumble downstairs.

_Coffee, coffee, coffee…_

I need it if I'm going to make it out - and back - alive. I slouch into the kitchen and start brewing. I pour most of the pot into a large mug, adding my preferred amount of extra hyper, before slurping it down in ten seconds flat and dumping the mug in the sink on my way out of the house.

I lock up behind myself - there is no way in hell I want repeats of the Fatass - and wander down the street, looking for something to do. I see Kenny waving from across the street, but I don't approach. I don't feel up to conversing with anyone.

_Quiet place, quiet place…_

Of course!

I turn towards the town's library and trot towards the silent haven of knowledge. I remember using this place to escape from the bullies. It seems appropriate that I now use it as an escape from my own thoughts…

I cross the street, duck away from those sluts Bebe and Wendy before slipping into the heated, quiet sanctuary of books and old people.

And me.

I absently wander amongst the rows and rows of books, looking for something that catches my interest. I haven't been here in so long, and yet everything is still the same. I wonder if they ever unblocked that toilet…

I pause, blink, and about turn. There, just past where I was walking, is a lone black book with no title. I've never seen it before - which is saying something, since I know this place inside and out. I pick up the strange book, eyeing it curiously before taking it to my old chair in the corner of the library. Even after these weeks and months of absence, my old chair is still warm, comfortable, and empty. I smile.

_Some things never change. _

I flip through the book, trying to figure out what it's about. I see gruesome pictures and pictographs of demons and fire and Hell… It's another one of those mythology books. I snort, moving to close up the book. I don't need to read all these tales about Damien's domain, I can just ask hi-

_Wait just a fucking second._

I pull the book open again, staring at the image in front of me. It's one of those in detail drawings from the middle ages - those ones that you find in books about Dracula and shit - but this one, this one's different.

It's a person dying - you know, the usual - but this time, instead of wailing and being judged and going to hell, this person sprouts horns and a tail and joins the ranks of the demons.

_What the fuck?_

My eyes scroll across the page alongside the image, looking for an explanation. Any explanation for this… transformation. I run my finger long the paragraphs frantically, getting more and more frustrated when I can't find the reason for this drawing.

Why would it show a mortal, a human, becoming a demon? How the hell is that even possible?

Finally, I spot a small paragraph at the bottom of the page, and I lean closer to read it.

_It has been said that when a man is desperate enough, they can sidestep the gates to Hell. This does not happen often, if at all, and in order to avoid Hell and it tortures, two things must happen. First, the man must agree to give up his humanity, become servant of Satan, or in other words, a demon. They must choose this life over their human thoughts and emotions._

I snort derisively, thinking of Damien. They don't exactly lose much, picking devilry. In fact, I reckon you gain a lot more, and don't lose half as much as they make out…

_Second, the man must be desperate. Not to avoid punishment, for Satan would know and bring the man in anyway. The man must either be desperate to finish something they could not in life - in which case they would become more like a ghost than a demon - or they must have a particularly strong emotion - usually hate, dedication, love or another equally strong feeling - keeping them from moving on…_

I sit back, my mind whirring with this new knowledge. There's a chance that I could become a demon. A chance to dodge Hell and become one of the immortally damned. A chance to be like Damien, follow him where he goes, never be left behind again.

A chance to be with Damien forever.

**AN~**

*******insert Dramatic music here***

**Pip figures out a way to be with Damien? What will happen next?**

**Okay people, I know a lot of you are going to hate me for this, but we really are hitting the end of the UA road now. I predict another three, possibly four chapters, but then I'm done.**

**I want to thank two people here and now, before I get distracted by something shiny.**

**First, to my buddy Louis, who read half of this chapter and convinced me to keep going. I wasn't really feeling the flow, but with his blatantly false and overly cheery comments about it being brilliant, I decided to stick with it. Thanks man, you saved us all from having to wait another month for an update!**

**Also, a huge thank you to XxNenisCullenxX, my newest reviewer and holder of the prestigious 69****th**** review! Yes, I know I'm immature, but it made me laugh, so I'm thanking her anyway.**

**Thanks to all my lovely readers and reviewers, and I'll see y'all next time!**

**Zanchev**


	20. Plots and planning

**Ungodly Addiction**

_Thoughts in Italics_

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

"_In order to transcend the way of the spirits, one must know and accept a number of matters…"_

I slump backwards in my chair, rubbing my tired and aching eyes. I've been at this book for days; reading anything and everything that could help me be with Damien. I've scoured every page, absorbed every footnote, studied every image, memorized every diagram…

I'm ready.

By now, I must be.

I know all the facts, I understand and accept all Terms and Conditions. I am prepared to make all the sacrifices and choices I need to make to become a demon and live eternal death and damnation.

And this time… This time it isn't just for Damien. This is for me too.

I can feel something in me, the same something that burned down the school and taunted Cartman and got addicted to the touch of an unholy demon. I can feel it taking in the information I've been gathering and hoarding it, caressing it like a treasure, a promise. It wants this.

I want this.

I want that smug, satisfied feeling I got when I walked past the smoldering rubble of the old school, I want the confidence and slightly morbid joy that I feel when I watch horror movies or see people suffering on TV. The demonic thing inside me wants to be realized, and I _want_ it. I want the chaotic highs I've felt, and I want them all the time, not just when I blow shit up.

And for these reasons - the joy and my love - I am ready and willing to give up my humanity and give into the darkness and cruelty that the book says will consume me.

Eh, humanity is overrated anyway.

I sigh, dragging myself from my seat and setting about making myself coffee. I swear, I'm as bad as Tweek sometimes. Coffee is one of the only American things that trump British delicacies.

I put the coffee on to brew and rub my eyes again - I'm getting a headache. The pain pounds on the back of my skull, knowledge and plans fumbling around for the light switch and falling over the drunken Common Sense on the floor.

I have all these plans and I've accepted - I'm even eager for - what I must do. But one thing I haven't quite worked out is _how_ to do it.

The plans continue to fall over the coffee table in my head as I raid my house for sugar and cream, pouring both into my mug and filling it up with the bitter drink. I idly stir my coffee, running one line from the book over and over in my mind.

"_In order to complete the process and join the damned, the ultimate sacrifice must be given…"_

Well, I know what sacrifice they were talking about. What, of everything in this realm, do demons prize most? What would be the ultimate sacrifice?

Easy.

My life.

The only way to ensure my path dodges that of a regular spirit I through knowingly and willingly surrendering my life to the demons. Give up one in exchange for the other darker, more powerful…

Not many would be able to accomplish such a feat.

Not only must you be willing to die, but you must also yearn to live. If you are truly suicidal, if you have nothing left to live for, then you will die and go to Hell like anyone else. Only those who have a reason to live, but choose to die anyway an achieve the acknowledgement from the demons and the offer to join them.

And who in their right mind would kill themselves when they have everything to lose?

Luckily, I don't think I even had a right mind to begin with.

I take a long swig of my coffee and look out my window at the near-empty streets. The buildings around my home loom over the unforgiving concrete like spectators of a mundane documentary on human life. Tall and unmoving, the buildings range from one story to three, a colossal drop to a rather bloody -

Wait a minute.

Of course!

The ideas in my head find the lights, and Common Sense is dragged out back for a Cold Water Sobriety Session.

_That's_ how I'll do it.

Theatrical, brae, shocking, bloody… everything the demon in me adores and craves. Surely it would appeal to the other devils and imps as it does to the one in me.

I'll throw myself off a building, the tallest one in town. I will give myself willingly to serve Damien in his Hellish home, and be able to follow him wherever he goes.

After all, he said once that I'd make a rather good demon, did he not?

I feel an eager, feral grin spread across my face as I look out of my window, sipping at my coffee distractedly.

As to whether he still thinks that, I'll be damned if we don't find out.

**AN ~**

**I have failed you all.**

**This is the first chapter that has not reached over 1000 words; I am so sorry. I promise I will do better next time.**

**There's only two chapters or so left my many faithful readers. I thank you all once again for your wonderful comments and dedication to my little tale. I apologise that I cannot continue, despite what many of you would like, but this I how I always planned on ending it, so bear with me, ok?**

**I hope you all enjoyed this latest segment of my story, and I'll see you all next time!**

**See y'all soon,**

**Zanchev**


	21. I forgot the bungee chord

**Ungodly Addiction**

_Thoughts in Italics_

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**DIP**

This is it.

I'm going to die now.

A drunken giggle escapes my lips as I gaze over the edge of the roof I'm about to jump off. I admire the ground below, so far away, and yet close enough to touch after just a few mere seconds of free fall. I glance behind myself at the wide expanses of the new South Park High rooftop, silently contemplating whether to jump off the front end or the back end of the building.

Front would be more dramatic, a bigger amusement both for myself and the demons I'm trying to impress… But it could also be seen as a sign of attention seeking. A final grasp at all the attention I never received in this blasted bullies' sanctuary.

Nope, definitely not the front.

My half-empty whiskey bottle sloshes at my side as I turn to examine behind the building. That's pretty much out of the question - I'd look like a loser, a pathetic Emo with no class.

The demons would not accept that.

Another chuckles wafts its way out of my mouth, curling with the scent of alcohol and cigarettes. I can't believe I'm debating the best end of a building to throw myself from.

It makes sense, you know. Thinking on it so hard. I need this to be the best performance of my life. I need to show those stuck-up demons that I'm right for the job.

I drain the rest of my bottle in one go and hurl it over the edge, laughing when it shatters into thousands of pieces on the distant ground.

That's going to be me.

Just as son as I can choose which bloody side to jump off. There's only four to choose from, for Christ's sake!

I reach for the other bottle - the last from my cabinet back home. I've been drinking solidly all night, all the alcohol in my house, from cooking sherry to that 12 year old single malt Dam saved for special occasions.

Hey, I figure I may as well get my money's worth. Besides, I need the inebriation and lack of inhibitions to actually do the deed. I won't delude myself - I know I'm too mush of a pansy to actually throw myself off a roof without a little push.

Or, in this case, a drink-induced stagger.

I open my last bottle - Rum, yum - and take a swig. I feel the numbing burn of the alcohol down my throat and sigh in contentment.

At least I'm going out on a high!

I glance to my left and grin like the devil.

It's a straight drop down - three stories - to a rocky, painful-looking P.E. obstacle course. It's not back or front, it'll give everyone one helluva shock, and the demons will have a fucking field-day with all those wooden poles and tires.

It's perfect.

I start chugging the rest of my liquor, thinking of Damien and the demons and eternal awareness and Damien and sex and blood and fun and Damien…

_I'm doin' this for you, lover!_

_I give myself to you and you dear ol' daddy and your way of life. I sacrifice all I hold dear, risk it all on the chance of a better existence with you, Damien._

_I love you._

I peer over the edge of the roof just as the sun makes it's debut over the horizon. I snort to myself - how fucking poetic.

Throwing myself from the battlements at dawn for the chance to join my beloved…

I shouldn't have debated for so long, but then I wouldn't have had the time to have some fun before my final fall.

I drain the rest of my rum in three hearty gulps, and throw the glass bottle to spread a layer of glittering splinters across where I myself will land in a few moments. I look at the shards glittering in the morning sun, and can't help but find it beautiful.

As I step back to make my final dash, I wonder who will find my handiwork. I feel gratified to know that I have left my mark on the new school as well as the old. Not only do I plan to make the obstacle course that much more exciting - _"Dodge the mangled corpse, c'mon ladies! Hup two, hup two, feel the burn!" _- I took the liberty to make my last mortal night one that no one will ever forget.

Earlier, when I broke into the school, I decide to take the long route to the roof. On my way through I drew an extraordinarily detailed diagram of a dick on Mr/s. Garrison's whiteboard - in permanent marker; glued the Principal's door shut with crazy glue; defaced the trophy case; and, amongst other things, skulled a bottle of vodka and pissed all over the couches in the teacher's lounge

Personally, I hope it's Garrison who finds me. The look on his face would be worth the Fatass' weight in gold.

I take a deep breath and start to run. Straight forward, fast as I can, left right left right left right…

As I go careening over the edge and find myself falling, I get the strangest sense of peace stealing over me, bringing a smile to my lips and helping my relax. I float on air for the briefest moment, looking up at the rising sun and I fall, fall, fall…

I hear a dull thud and feel myself stop falling, but no pain breaches the alcohol-enhanced numbness in my system. The shock is probably helping.

I feel a warm salty liquid in my mouth, and when I cough it sounds gurgled, as if I were trying to speak underwater. I've probably broken nearly every bone in my body, but I cannot feel it. There is blood in my lungs, on my face and arms and all over the floor, spreading in a slow, elegant puddle of life.

As I bleed out, the peaceful feeling grows. I have done all I can do. Either I have satisfied the demons and will be with Damien forever, or I will die normally and see him only when he ventured into Hell.

And that's ok.

I laugh softly at the realization that I couldn't care less whether my sacrifice worked or not, it's just a relief to have done something, have gotten away from this dingy, one-dead-horse town. Waiting for Damien is fine, but waiting in South Park is Hell.

My laughter echoes throughout the empty school grounds as I draw nearer to my last breath, completely at ease. I can wait for Damien, I have not lost him by this action, whether it works or not. I can wait for him, wait for the one I love.

And I do love him, what started out as an addiction has turned into one of the best things to ever happen to me. My laughter slows to a contented sigh, and as my breathing stutters and stops, I breathe one last comment, letting the cigarette smoke and alcohol fumes linger with the words of a dying man.

I love you, Damien.

**AN ~**

**So…**

**How was it? Dramatic enough for all of you? Too sappy, not sappy enough, just right?**

**Okay so there is one last chapter after this, a sort of resolution as to whether he get's to follow Damien around forever or spent eternity in Hell, the usual trials and tribulations…**

**Thank you once again to all you wonderful, marvelous, fantastic people who review, I tell you all now that those little notes make my day that little bit brighter!**

**And so until next time, (for the last time)**

**Zanchev**

**P.S. I got over 1000 words again, my honor is restored**


	22. The New Ungodly Addiction

**Ungodly Addiction**

_Thoughts in Italics_

**I have a universal Disclaimer in my Profile, so all angry mobs bearing pitchforks and torches are unnecessary.**

**WARNING: All those who are squeamish and don't like sex, I would suggest you skip the scene in the middle, okay? You've been warned!**

**DIP**

"You utter bastard."

My eyes flicker open, and I slowly heave myself into a sitting position, casually leaving my bloodied, rather dead body behind. I blink once or twice, before looking up to see Damien.

Damien, oh how I've missed him.

But Damien doesn't look at all pleased to see me. In fact, he looks downright pissed off. I swallow - or at least, as close as I can without a physical body. I've seen this expression before, and the last time it was on his face, Damien beat Fatass to a bloody pulp.

"Uh… surprise?" I offer weakly, smiling a little, only to have the twisted grimace fall from my lips when Damien's eye narrow. I feel the urge to swallow again. I am in so much trouble…

"What." Damien hisses, and I hear hurt and worry hidden, buried deep beneath the cold fury. "Could possibly have been running through your head when you did this?"

Suddenly all my brilliant plans didn't seem so brilliant. Damien seemed hurt by this turn of events. I don't know what to say, all my excitement seems to have vanished when I died.

I'm dead…

"Were you really that unhappy?" Damien asks softly, ignoring my wide eyes and gaping mouth. "Did you hate being with me so much, waiting for me so much, that you felt you had to kill yourself?"

Suddenly, everything clicks, and I start laughing. I just can't help it. Damien isn't mad because I'm dead. He's mad because he thinks I did this to get away from him. I can see in the look of confusion and hurt on his face that he honestly believes I despise him like that.

My dear, dear Damien… it's exactly the opposite.

"You… moron…" I gasp through my shuddering breaths and hiccupping giggles. "You… c-c-complete… idiot…"

My insults do not seem to lighten Damien's mood, but right now I'm so ecstatic I couldn't care less. I'm still in the right, I did the right thing, I can see Damien more freely now…

I can be with him forever.

As soon as I've calmed down enough to not fall over, I haul myself to my corporeal feet and drag a very surprised Damien into my whispy arms, hugging him so fiercely I threaten to go right through him.

"I did it to be closer to you, stupid," I whisper, eyes closed to hide the tears of joy and contentment in my eyes.

When did I become such a fucking girl?

"I found a book explaining a way that I could possibly become a demon, and that way I could follow you to all the realms, and be with you forever. I wasn't trying to get away, I was trying to get closer."

Damien takes a moment to assimilate this new information, make sense of it, and then his arms are clamped around me, tighter than steel clamps and less likely to ever let me go. He captures my almost nonexistent lips into a hot kiss, and I sigh happily.

This is what I want, this is why I gave myself up to the demons, gave myself up to Damien. As we pull away, I look up t him and whisper the words for the first time.

"I love you."

Damien snorts.

"You could've told me that a lot sooner, or at least before you threw yourself off a freaking building. It would've given me a chance to think of a better way to make you a demon, a less painful way… Why the building, by the way?"

"Dramatic effect," I mumble, feeling a little silly. Of course, if I'd thought to consult Damien, we probably could've thought of a way to make me a demon without leaving a splatter on South Park's school grounds.

To my surprise, Damien starts laughing, loud and long and happy. He keeps his arms wrapped around my ghostly body as he shakes with mirth.

"Dramatic effect…" Damien shakes his head fondly. "You really are cut out to be a demon."

I smile at him, and together we walk the path between human world and Hell, towards my new life.

***warning***

The pain of my leap of faith comes back to me during my passing from ghost to demon. The pain of a hundred shattered bones pierces through me again and again, blood falls from my lips and I gasp for breath. A scream is wrenched from my lips, and I can _feel _Damien wince.

Finally, _finally_, the pain slowly recedes to a tolerable level, and I am able to make a biting comment. I cannot remember what I said, but I remember Damien admitting a reluctant, troubled chuckle at my attempt to lighten the mood.

The pain doesn't fully leave for many, many hours. So many I don't know how long I've been dead now. It doesn't matter, because I have all I want right here, and I never want to look back to life again. Let the humans have it, I have power and love here now.

Love, something I never had on the human plane of existence, is so abundant here, in Hell, in Damien's adoring gaze, that it's a wonder I didn't off myself years ago, just for this feeling of belonging. I laugh, the sound rising and falling with the winds of change, the sands of time and the oceans of emotion that roll and toss and turn and live just beneath the humans and their monotonous lives.

When I finally open my eyes as a being free of pain of any kind, the first thing I see is Damien, grinning at me with his red eyes bright with a feral hunger - one I recognize from my months addicted to even the scent, taste or thought of the man in front of me now. I grin back, and we collide in a frenzied fury of teeth and tongue and touch and taste and _feel_…

I don't even remember moving, but I suddenly find myself pinned beneath Damien's strong body on a soft surface - a bed? I soon find I really don't care and my newly strong fingers weave into Damien's soft black hair and tug, yanking his head back and giving me a better angle to thrust my tongue into his mouth.

We battle for dominance both in the kiss and with our bodies, touching and groping and tugging at clothing until we're both naked and panting and _oh my fucking god I am so ready…_

I seize Damien's hips and thrust against them with my own, moaning loudly at the feel of my fresh new body responding to the heat and friction and feelings that only this can ever inspire in me. I hear Damien moaning along with me, and that only spurs me forward, literally. I lean forward, sliding lithely down my lover's body until I am able to lick a long, luxurious stripe down his pulsing member with my newly forked tongue.

I smirk at the shudder that rattles Damien's spine as I take him into my mouth, bobbing back and forth, sucking lightly here and nibbling softly there. I know every pressure point, every soft spot that will have my Damien writhing beneath my hands, my tongue…

I pull back, eager for more. I flip us over, until he is over me and smirk at him, one eyebrow raised in challenge. Damien's answering grin is all I need to know before I jolt my hips upwards, crashing our erections together in a glorious collision of nerve endings that has us both drooling for more.

I feel Damien's hand fluttering at my entrance, and a hiss impatiently. The man obviously still thinks I'm a weak, puny human, someone who needs protection. I am no longer that boy, that nervous wreck of a youth.

Now I am strong. Now I am a demon.

I push my hips backwards, impaling myself on two of his fingers before he has chance to protest. It is uncomfortable, but not painfully so. I shift my hips, planting my feet and raising my ass so that I can reach a new depth. Damien gasps and suddenly his lips are on mine again, teeth tugging at my lip, cutting and bruising it as his fingers begin to thrust rough and hard - just like I want.

I moan into the kiss, my hips thrusting restlessly as he pulls out and looks about for something to lube up with. I snarl, and he just sends for a minion. A small, scared looking imp scuttles in, squeaks at the sight of my groaning and naked self on the bed, but I don't give a shit. Give the punk a show for all I care. Damien takes the oil he ordered from the little pixie and returns his attentions to me.

It's damn convenient when your boyfriend is overlord of the underworld, I must admit.

Not soon enough, Damien is pushing at me, thrusting inside too slowly, too _slowly_ damnit…

I jerk my hips up to meet his and smirk at his hiss through my own discomfort. Before I give myself a chance to fully accustom, I begin to move again, eager to have the feeling of connection with Damien again, to feel him moving inside me, regardless of the pain it may cause me.

Damien moans and suddenly he is thrusting hard, pounding me into the mattress the way he hasn't done since the very first few times we fucked, back when it was just an addiction. I moan again, the roughness almost tearing me apart but keeping me together by an inch, almost tipping me over the edge but keeping that sliver of control.

But nothing matters. Nothing else matters except that Damien is here, with me. He is mine and I am his and if he stops now I will die and if he leaves I will fall apart and if he does not stop doing that _thing_ with his tongue I'm going to come…

Two more thrusts and I am lost, lost to the raking, raping pleasure of a good hard fuck. My orgasm rips through me like a torrential hurricane, throwing me against Damien's warm chest and coating us both with my seed. I slump back against the softness, but keep my hips pliant and moving for Damien.

Soon my lover's pace becomes erratic and he is calling out my name hoarsely, kissing my forehead and pulling out with a sigh and a wet noise. I can feel his come trickling from my ass and making a puddle beneath me, but I can't find it in me to care.

All that matters is Damien, that I love Damien and Damien loves me and together we are demons, rulers of Hell and I am his and he is mine and we are both happy.

I lazily reach up for a kiss, the first of many, for many, many years to come.

***all clear***

I look at the figure in front of me, loving them more and more each day. I remember when he was a happy, polite little religious kid, with a blonde bob-cut, bow tie and cap. That kid was a little ray of sunshine in the otherwise crappy hell-hole that is South Park. His British accent and overly chipper attitude was unchanging, even though every other kid in the town abused him; beat him up, put him down, and generally just didn't give a shit how he felt.

'_That little kid is long gone now_,' I think as I idly play with his fringe, smiling softly. The blonde fringe falls into that person's eyes, covering the look of joy in them. I glance at the crisp black dress pants and half opened deep crimson button-down shirt that has replaced the little cardigan and bow tie the kid used to wear. I smirk at the polished black dress shoes that have taken the place of those cheesy socks and loafers. My eyes pan upwards, before staring contemplatatively at the space where that cute little cap used to sit. I wonder what in Hell's name ever possessed him to think it was a good look...

I remember when that boy was an angry, lost and helpless teenager. I remember his tattered, Goth-punk clothing and dejected, eye-liner stained stare. He was alone in his world, with no one there to balance him, love him, care for him. As a result he was bitter and cynical; an angry and hurt man with no where to turn. I remember the look of deeply rooted hatred that haunted his face and deadened his eyes. My heart aches a little as I watch a tear slide down the boy's face in remembered pain, remembered loss and loneliness.

I swear that the boy will never feel that way again, never need addictions or pain or suffering to feel alive or feel the need to sell himself to feel appreciated, or even used.

I look into that boy's eyes, and know that the same expressions are equally as apparent on my face as they are on his. I pull a packet of cigarettes from my pocket and we both take a fag. I light our smokes and sigh as I feel the nicotine race into my lungs, slowly warming me from the inside. I smile once again at the man in front of me, remembering his growth and life and death and continued changing into the strong, cunning demon he is today.

I turn away from the mirror, marching out of my room and out into the fiery pits of Hell. I walk out into open space and let my blackened, tattered wings unfurl as I take off into the red skies. I have grown beyond what I was, I have become more than what I ever dreamed I could be, and with Damien's help, I will grow to be even more.

I spy Damien flying nearby, and together we soar over Hell and into the Human Plane. I spy South Park going along it's dreary little existence without me, I see Canada and Alaska speeding past below us, guiding our way to our set mission for the day. I slip closer and take Damien's hand as we fly lower and lower, fast approaching our European destination.

As I see the loving gaze that Damien shoots my way, I smile again. With Damien's help, I could easily surpass all my expectations yet again.

Hell, with the love and support emanating from my lover every second of every day, I may well become an Ungodly Addiction myself.

Now there's a thought…

**AN ~**

**CUT**

**Okay people, that's a wrap.**

**Ungodly Addiction is officially over, you can all go home now.**

**After you review, of course :D**

**I hope you all liked the story, I had a blast writing it!**

**Huge shout outs to all who reviewed - in particular Nicci, HNG, and my little Anon friend who was formerly known as ScarletWolf. All of you helped move this story along, and without your encouragements I would never have finished it.**

**I need people like you guys to bug me for my originals :D**

**And so, Goodbye from me**

**Until the next story,**

**Zanchev**

**Oh, and by the way, what do you guys think of a sequel? ;)**


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